Found It Once, You'll Find It Again
by Silly Twin Stars
Summary: When Maka gets a summer job while visiting her grandmother, her life is thrown into chaos. Between illicit whale watching excursions, summoning demons with pizza boxes and learning to drive stick shift, it'll be a miracle if she gets through the summer alive. At least she's got a quiet, piano-playing coworker who knows his way around a steering wheel to help her navigate the road.
1. Soft and Only, Lost and Lonely

Hey Resbangers! Time for year three! I know how challenging the event has been for everyone this year, and my experience was no exception! This was a struggle to write, but I'm so proud of how far this story has come. I hope you enjoy this sweet, slice-of-lifey New England AU. So much love to my Resbang partners, sojustifiable and MacabreMermaid, who made beautiful art to accompany this story and who have been so supportive and kind throughout this process. And love to my betas as well, without whom this story would absolutely not have existed this year: skadventuretime, SandmanCircus, guacamoletrash, Aquabella888 and Professor Maka.

I love this story, and my only regret is that I finally, despite my best efforts to the contrary, had to give Black*Star a real person name. I hope you all enjoy. :)

* * *

 **Found It Once, You'll Find It Again**

"The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned."  
\- Maya Angelou

"It's a funny thing, coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what's changed is you."  
\- The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

-ɸ-

The old house looks exactly the same. In twenty-one summers, Maka doesn't think it has changed at all.

As she turns the corner down the drive, the little cottage by the sea comes into full view. It may be small, but the inside is bigger than it looks, all open windows and arcing ceilings. Painted a comforting beachy-gray, with scores of flowers lining the yard and disappearing behind the house to where the tall grass meets the sea... it's one of the places she feels most at home.

Maka smiles as she walks past the mailbox, which is painted like a green-and-blue striped fish with a smiling red mouth for the opening. Its eyes are extra special: a deep blue-green that matches the color of Nana's eyes - and Papa's as well - with thick black eyelashes painted in broad strokes. When she was little, Pap-Pap told Maka that he had painted it with Nana in mind, and since then, Maka always imagined that it was the first person to greet her to the house. She could always see how it mirrored the little twinkle in Nana's eye.

Feet scuffing against the gravel driveway, she makes her way to the side door of the house as soft green grass tickles her toes. Unlocked as always, the door pushes open easily, and she sets her bag down on the ground to read a note, in sprawling cursive:

 _At the beauty shop with the girls. Cookies in the jar! Be back by lunchtime._

 _love,  
_ _NN_

 _ps. I know you'll want to start, so there's a pile of wood in the basement with your name on it._

Maka smiles at the familiar signature, at the use of the two syllables in Na-na as her initials.

 _on it - MK,_ she writes, and sets off for the basement, grabbing a chocolate chip cookie on her way out of the room.

-ɸ-

" _A-choo!"_

It's so _dusty_ down here. Maka winces against the bandana covering her face, which is doing little to ward off the dust and debris circling its way through the basement. She picks up the plywood again, hoisting it on her shoulder as she maneuvers her way to the outside basement door, adding it to the pile of accumulated debris on the grass outside.

"Everything all right down there?"

Maka grins beneath the bandana and tugs it off her face to answer, the ocean air touching her face like a salve. She takes in a deep breath of salty air before answering, which is enough time for Nana to sidle across the deck and peer down at her.

"Look at my hard worker. C'mon up, you've done enough this morning. Lunch is ready."

"Just give me another few minutes to clear out some more of this wood," Maka replies, pulling the bandana back up. "I'd like to get this over to the shop in the afternoon."

Nana tuts back at her, but she's already ambling back inside, and Maka's face spreads into a knowing smile underneath the bandana as she gathers up the rest of the wood and heads upstairs.

-ɸ-

The sound of the ocean has always soothed her.

There's something paradoxical about it - it always _sounds_ the same, but every day it brings with it something new, an invigorating sense of vitality. The ocean is freezing, but hermit crabs and snails still manage to make their lives there, crawling and gliding across the sand with the constant ebb and flow of the tides. And there's something comforting about that - the idea of them thriving under the surface, safe beneath the waves. Being close to it eases her nerves.

After lunch, Maka sits on the deck, book propped up on her knees, eyes scanning the pages as the sound of the ocean punctuates each sentence. It's cloudy today, but it's still warm enough to sit outside, glass of iced tea in hand.

"Heeeere we go." The screen door slides open, followed by a hand clutching an iced tea of its own, followed by a flowy white shirt and a pair of jean capris - quintessential Nana Albarn attire for a cool summer day.

"Here!" Maka slides off the chair, jumping up to help Nana, only to be instantly swatted away with a cane. Maka sighs a little and watches Nana lower herself into a chair with zero assistance - which is the way she likes to do just about everything.

"Now you stay right there and read, don't let me bother you!" Nana takes a sip of her iced tea with pursed lips, unimpressed.

"I'd rather sit and talk to my favorite grandmother," Maka says, kissing her on the cheek, and the skin there stretches as Nana tries not to smile. "Or we can just listen to the ocean, if you want."

"I'd like a little peace and quiet, actually, after talking with your Papa for the past few minutes." Nana closes her eyes, brow creasing as she sips at her tea again.

"Did he call _again?_!" Maka puts her head in her hands. "You should have let me talk to him, I can get him to stop-"

"Are you kidding?!" Nana's cane slaps merrily at the table. "Three times in one morning - he hasn't called this much since you were born! I love it - it gives me a chance to give him a piece of my mind."

"Mmm." Maka glances down at Nana's glass - a bright green one, with the words Everyone's Entitled To My Opinion emblazoned on the side in white. Papa had given it to her as a present a few years back, and it's still one of her favorites.

They sit and listen to the water for a while, the slow sequence of the waves lulling her in to the kind of calm that only Nana's house can deliver. She's slowly blinking at the sun, which is starting to peek through the clouds, when she glances down at her phone and sighs.

"What's the time?" Nana asks, catching on instantly.

"Too late," Maka says, getting up and pushing in her chair. "I'm gonna take this wood into town."

She gets the wood ready, heads out to Nana's car, and stares at the transmission.

"...Crap." She'd completely forgotten that Nana's car is a manual, _and_ completely forgotten that this is the car where the seats don't actually come down to hold all this wood she's lugged down here.

She remembers, however, that in a corner of the basement, well-suited for this job, is an old red wagon.

"Are you sure you don't want to take the car?" Nana asks as she walks down from upstairs, the handrail guiding her to the main floor. "It's a long way to the shop from here."

"I'm sure," Maka says. "It'll be nice to take a walk, anyway. I'll take a crack at the car later."

"I could call someone to help you take it down, too," she offers, though the expression on her face tells Maka that she already knows what the answer will be.

"I'll be fine," she says with a little smile, to which Nana tuts.

"I know that," she says. "My self-sufficient granddaughter. You just let me know if you need a hand, okay?"

"Yes, Nana," she says as she starts to pull the wood away, but Nana stops her for a moment to rifle through her wallet.

"Here." Even though there's no one else there, Nana slips her a ten-dollar bill with all of the smoothness and secrecy of a drug deal, murmuring conspiratorially, "Get yourself a coffee while you're out looking for all those jobs."

Maka smiles, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "Yes, Nana," she says again.

* * *

Soul wakes up in his room, deep red curtains drawn on mid-morning sun. His arm searches around for his alarm clock, and when his fingers finally get a whack at it, it ends up falling to the floor with a loud _clang_.

"Agh. Why." He blinks down at the clock, lying on its side, legs sticking out like an up-ended cockroach. Groaning, he drags himself out of bed and into a bathrobe, heading for the door and leaving the clock behind.

There won't be anyone here at this time of morning, so he doesn't have to worry about looking presentable. He ambles down the grand staircase, oriental rugs soft at his feet, focused on the coffee machine in the next room.

It's so dark in this house. He's never really noticed it before, and since he arrived two days prior, it's been eating at him. It's easy to wake up slowly, which is something he does appreciate, but for a summer house, it's such an odd choice.

It shouldn't really be surprising. The old Evans proclivity for old, dark wood has long been a permanent fixture in all of their houses. A fitting color palette for an old, dark family.

All right. He is _crabby_ , and acknowledges that the primary reason for his bad mood this morning is probably a lack of caffeine, so he channels his bitterness into the grounds as he pours them into the coffee pot, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers on the table as he waits for it to brew.

Steaming mug in hand, he leaves the kitchen and edges out onto the front balcony, hoping to soak up at least a little vitamin D to offset this terrible temperament. The house, however, is dependably and infuriatingly west-facing, which means that there's barely any sun at all on the deck this morning, and he lurks in the shadows, sipping at his bitter liquid beans and resenting that he'd come here this summer at all.

He wishes Wes were here, and tries to imagine what his brother would say to drag him out of this grump-fest. _But look, Soul, the view is so nice! Listen to the seagulls! Feel the breeze on your face! What a time to be alive!_

He winces. Even imaginary Wes is too chipper for him at ten in the morning.

With his coffee properly imbibed and his bad mood only exacerbated, he elects to do the only thing that he knows will make him feel better.

He takes out the bike.

-ɸ-

It's not a feeling that he wants to investigate too deeply, the freedom that comes with a motorcycle ride. In one way, it's a predictable experience - the wind whipping his already wild hair into a frenzy, the air on his face, the patterned rubber under his palms. But for some reason, it never gets old - it's always invigorating, knowing that if he really wanted to, he could take this out on the road and never come back to this sleepy, boring little town.

He even makes a half-hearted attempt this morning, driving deliberately away from the center of town, onto the marshy back roads, up and down hills along the coast. He makes a point to drive by the old lighthouse which, in his opinion, is the _right_ kind of old building, a red brick stem against a soft blue sky, and he sits there awhile, watching as the sun casts more and more of a shadow along its structure as the day slips into early afternoon.

But as peaceful as it initially was, white caps rushing towards the cape with a gentle roar, he suddenly feels the immediate need to get on his bike and drive away from here. The silence between the waves is too loud, the waves too unpredictable a rhythm, and he doesn't like be stuck here, alone with his thoughts.

Staying in one place for too long is… uncomfortable, these days, and it's time for work, anyway.

When he drives back up to the manor on the hill, he takes in how imposing it looks. Still dark, and foreign, and empty, and there's a thought that enters his brain unbidden.

Is this what coming home is supposed to feel like?

He cuts the engine and swings his leg off of the bike, walks into an empty house, and climbs the staircase again, the carpet muffling his feet. The silence presses in on him, and he feels his bad mood returning, so he throws his work clothes on and makes a beeline for the door.

The old house looks exactly the same, but in twenty-two years, he doesn't think it's ever felt this suffocating.

Being alone doesn't necessarily imply _loneliness_ , right? Usually he _likes_ being alone, so this is such a new concept that he doesn't know what to do with. Normally his parents won't leave him alone, and he thought having them so busy this summer would be a blessing. But maybe he's just doomed to be unhappy, no matter the scenario.

As he turns the bike away and heads back towards town, he prepares for a summer of being… very lonely.

* * *

Shareport is a typical New England beach town - gift shops galore, with a cute post office and even cuter restaurants. Ben and Jerry's sits high on a hill in the corner of town, tempting beachgoers with its familiarity. There's a bridge in the middle of town, connecting the two sides of the bay together - a tiny thing, with rusty blue-green sides that creak when too many cars sit on it at once.

Maka makes her way to the antique shop with the wagon in tow. The pile of wood from this morning is heaped precariously in the wagon bed, planks rattling behind her as her destination comes into view. She'd always loved the way the antique shop looked: a bright red barn, colonial-style, with a huge black front door. She makes quick work of leaving the wood with a smiling man who, while not much older than she is, has the _whitest_ hair she'd ever seen.

"Take good care of this, okay?" she says. "I'll drop more off tomorrow."

"I'll make it into something _lovely_ , I assure you," he says with a wink, and she nods, taking her leave.

Towing around her now-empty wagon, she drops in at the smoothie shop, the coffee shop, and candy shop before crossing the bridge into the quieter part of town. At the coffee shop, she chats with the barista before buying a cup to go, as per Nana's request. She then pops into a whole string of gift shops along the water, leaving resumes behind in her wake, and she gives away her last one before her gaze falls on a restaurant at the end of the row.

Skully's, the sign says. It is clearly pirate-themed, and very different from the rest of the architecture in Shareport: the entire restaurant appears to be raised on stilts, hovering above the old brew pub below. The sign itself resembles a pirate flag, with a skull that differs from the normal pirate brand, long spikes extending from the base of the skull to the bottom of the flag.

Suddenly, Maka finds herself wishing she had not given away all of her resumes.

Curiosity piqued, she walks over to the restaurant. It's just after the beginning of Happy Hour, so the parking lot is fairly empty - only a couple of sedans and a motorcycle parked under the awning. Leaving the wagon tucked away in a corner of the parking lot, she winds her way up the staircase to the landing where she stops for a moment, a little stunned by the view. The restaurant backs up onto the bay, where an array of sailboats and speedboats lie tethered to the docks. In this part of town, the water snakes under the bridge and between the shops, almost as if it's mapping the town out with water. The clouds have returned, casting the whole town in a grayish sheen, but when the sun returns, she's sure that the view from here would be literally _sparkling_.

Suddenly, she can feel eyes on her back, and she swivels around to see two other women smiling at her through the door to the restaurant, waiting patiently behind a podium. When they see her looking, they raise their hands up and wave in unison, and she heads over to them, blanching a little.

A sound like a foghorn goes off when she enters, which causes her to jump, and she watches the hostesses' faces split into smiles.

"First time in here?" says the black-haired girl on the left, whose name tag reads 'Tsubaki' in looping handwriting.

"...Yeah," Maka says, shooting a glare at the speaker above her.

"Don't worry," the other girl - Patty, according to her name tag - says, shooting Maka a thumbs up. "You didn't even jump that high. We won't tell!"

Maka isn't sure whether to thank her or be mystified as to why a restaurant _needs_ a foghorn to usher in its guests. "I just came to… check the place out. I come here every summer and I've never seen it before."

"Ooooh, you're early for tourist season!" Patty exclaims, grabbing a menu excitedly. "Normally people don't start coming until July when it heats up! Where do you wanna sit?" She gestures to a nearly empty dining room. "You can stay out on the porch too, if you want. It'll get a little cold soon, though."

Maka looks around the room, at the flickering oil lantern lamps over the tables and the pirate flags scattered over the walls. "No, it's okay. I'll stay inside."

The entryway opens up once they edge into the dining room, and the large skull painted on the ceiling, bordered by criss-crossing nautical ropes, makes the whole room almost feel like a ship, guided by its ceiling treasure map.

"Wanna sit at the bar?" Patty asks, watching as Maka takes in the view. "It's raised up, so it's got a really good view of everything."

"...Sure," Maka says, eyes continuing to rove over the decor. In one corner of the restaurant are an array of games - pool tables, pinball machines. As they cross the room and walk up the steps to the bar, the bartender waves them over.

"Special delivery, sis!" Patty says, slapping the menus against the counter. "A newbie!"

"Already?" the bartender, nametag-identified as Liz, says. "But it's May."

"I know!" Patty exclaims with delight. "She's early!"

"I'm here all summer," Maka adds with a smile. "So I won't be new next time."

"Nice," Liz says, turning around and grabbing a napkin. "Then you'll get to try at least _three_ of our rotating taps." She points up to an intimidatingly large board of chalk-scrawled beer names that nearly extends to the ceiling, and Maka leans back in order to actually look at everything.

Liz surveys her with an amused grin. "The old brew pub downstairs is still fully operational, so we make a lot of our stuff right downstairs."

"That's really cool," Maka says, though she's still overwhelmed by the selection. "... What do you recommend?"

A typical beer recommendation conversation ensues, and they drum up a whole slew of words including wheats and porters and stouts and IPAs, hoppy versus not hoppy, and eventually Maka settles on a raspberry wheat ale - though Liz makes her promise that she'll try the blueberry beer next time.

"I'll drink whatever you want as long as you promise not to use the word 'mouthfeel,'" Maka says, taking a sip.

"God, there _is_ someone here who uses that word," Liz whispers conspiratorially. "If you stick around here long enough, you'll probably spot him."

"I've got time," Maka says, and she realizes that she _does_ , and that she's quite enjoying her time here, tucked away in a corner of the bar.

"Great," Liz says. "Well, let me know if you need any food or anything. I'll be down the bar."

"Sounds good," Maka says. After another few minutes of glancing around the bar, she decides to pull out her book, enjoying the background noise of business slowly picking up - though the foghorn does serve as a distraction from time to time. She's finally immersed enough that even the blare of the horn won't pull her attention from the story… until a question comes from behind her left shoulder.

"Are you _reading?_ "

Maka looks up, already ready to fight based on that pointed _tone_ , and the bright blue color of her inquisitor's hair causes her irritation to rise exponentially. Before she can answer, however, Liz jumps in:

"Um, _excuse_ me. What are you doing out of the kitchen?"

"I'm stretching my legs!" he says, bending down into a squat and pulling on his foot. As she tries to catch a glimpse of his name tag, Maka realizes that she can't decipher _what_ exactly is on it, as a large star has been drawn in Sharpie over his name.

"There aren't any chairs in the kitchen," Liz shoots back. "You don't _sit_. You don't need to stretch them."

"I'm resting them, then," he says, hopping into the chair next to Maka and swinging his feet.

"... And you are?" Maka asks, deadpan.

"Can't you- oh, I forgot," he says, glancing down at his name tag. "Only those with The Sight can read my autograph. Name's Blake Starling," he says, offering his hand.

The handshake is most definitely a Strength Contest, and it gives Maka a little satisfaction to watch him crack his knuckles afterward.

"Why the star, then?" Maka says, and Liz puts her head in her hands at this question.

"Bad idea," Liz mutters.

"Uh, like I said," Blake says. "It's an autograph!"

"But it's just a st-"

"Have you seen John Cena's autograph? It totally looks like a star-"

Liz lifts her head from her hands, exasperated. "But why model _your_ autograph after John Cen-"

"Uh uh, Elizzzzabeth," he tuts, wagging his finger at her. "John Cena stole that from _me._ I came up with that in two-thousand-two, at the ripe age of eleven. I have the screenshots to prove it. Anyway." He directs his attention, unfortunately, back to Maka. "Why are you _reading_ at the bar?"

"She can do whatever she wants, birdbrain," Liz says, eyes narrowing. "When's the last time you read anything? Get back in the kitchen and go flip something."

"Mmm, good idea," he says loftily. "How about this?" He hops out of his chair and flips her the bird, which Liz reaches up and pretends to catch in midair, placing it in her pocket for safekeeping. With a wave, he turns tail and runs back to the kitchen, nearly plowing over a white-haired waiter carrying two armfuls of food in the doorway.

 _Another_ person with white hair. Huh.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," the waiter says, holding on to a plate of cheese fries by mere fingertips.

"Yes, my child?" Blake says as he reenters the kitchen, which earns him a triple eye roll from waiter, bartender and patron alike.

"Can't you like, give him an ultimatum or something?" the waiter grumbles at Liz, stopping to rearrange his newly disorderly plates.

"That's a Kid question, and you know it," Liz says, pointing to the schedule on the wall. "He'll be here in fifteen. But you already know what he's gonna say."

Together they say, in an uppity voice, "I've spoken to Father, but the customers _love him._ " They cringe in unison, and once his cheese fries are no longer in danger, the waiter walks away to deliver them.

"The customers love him?" Maka says in disbelief.

Liz shrugs. "He's good at putting on the pirate gimmick. 'Ahoy there, minions!' and all of that. He has no shame, so he makes people laugh, I guess. They find him… _charismatic_." She and Maka both pull a face.

"They just can't stop talking about me," Blake swoons through the kitchen window behind the bar. "Hey, nerdling." He points at Maka through the window. "Why don't you come and drink with us tonight? You seem cool - y'know, besides the reading thing."

" _Thanks_ ," Maka says, and Liz snorts. "I can't, though. I'm back on the job hunt tomorrow morning."

"... _Job_ hunt?" Blake says slowly, his eyes lighting up. "You need a job?"

"Yeah," Maka says. "I'm here all summer, staying with my Nana, so I'm trying to find something... seasonal…"

She trails off because, as she speaks, Blake slowly pulls out a Help Wanted sign from the kitchen wall and holds it in front of his face, wiggling his arms from side to side.

Maka ignores him and turns to Liz. "Wait, really?"

"Yep," Liz says. " _Someone_ was supposed to put that sign up by the entrance today, so… sorry that you didn't see it before."

The sign stops wiggling and Blake sheepishly peeks over the top of the paper. "It's a good tactic!" he insists. "We get to screen the good candidates before they even know we're looking!"

At this, Liz reaches up and pulls the window down to the kitchen, leaving Blake to make pouty faces at them through the glass.

"Anyway, he's right," Liz says. "...About _that_. You should come in tomorrow. I promise I won't let Kid-"

"You won't let Kid do what?" comes a voice from the door of the bar, belonging to a man in a full black-and-white suit, a skull clasp sitting at the tippy-top of his collar.

Liz regards him cooly. "I won't let Kid stick our new interviewee in the kitchen with the _riff raff_ ," she says, gesturing to Blake's still-pouty face, which is now squished up against the glass.

Kid's face contorts in disgust. " _I just cleaned that, you idiot-_ -" he grits out as he pushes back through the kitchen door, causing Blake to jump and sprint out of view of the window. Intimidation tactics administered, Kid walks back out of the kitchen, clasping his hands together.

"I'm terribly sorry about that," he says, extending his hand for Maka to shake. "An interview, yes? Come in tomorrow morning from 10:30 to 11:00."

"Oh! Great," Maka says, surprised but not exactly disappointed in how quickly this is all accelerating. "I'll be there."

"Excellent," he says. "If you have a resume, please bring it. Normal margins, center-aligned. No strange colors, please. Thank you."

"Sure. Got it," Maka says, pulling out her phone and jotting the instructions down. Once she looks up from her phone, he heads back toward the kitchen without a word, disappearing through the door.

"...Mouthfeel?" Maka whispers to Liz, pointing at Kid's retreating back.

Liz smiles, nodding solemnly. She takes Maka's empty glass, and places it in a bucket near the kitchen door. "I think you'd fit in around here just fine, new girl. Seriously. Come for the interview, okay?"

Maka nods, grateful for the endorsement. She pays and thanks her for the drink, giving the room one last glance as she gets up to leave. "I guess… I'll see you at ten tomorrow, then, if you're here."

"I'm not scheduled, but I'll come," Liz says with a wink. "Just to make sure everyone behaves themselves."

"...Thanks," Maka says, walking back through the door, jumping again as the foghorn escorts her out.

On the walk back, she thinks about the strange restaurant with its strange staff, and goes home to perfect her resume.

* * *

Soul bolts out of work just after sunset, hopping on his bike like he's fleeing a crime scene.

It's not like he has anywhere to be - he's just trying to dodge any attempts on Blake's part to make him be _social_ this evening. His coworker is notorious for roping people into things that they'd rather not do, and since Soul spends essentially all of his time doing things he doesn't want to do, he'd rather not continue the pattern.

So what if he'd complained all morning about being by himself? Those big social gatherings aren't his thing, either. He enjoys sitting in the happy medium of the spectrum of socialization. Being alone sucks, and being with too many people sucks, so instead he opts for a more desirable middle ground.

He heads to the shop. The sky is a rich blue overhead as he makes his way out of town, the streetlights winking on in intervals as he travels east.

Wes is already standing in front of the building, white hair standing out eerily in the twilight. Even more eerie is the excited, almost conspiratory expression on his face as Soul pulls into a spot in front of the house, which sort of makes him want to turn the bike around and drive away before he can get pulled into whatever _activity_ his brother has cooked up for him. Maybe he should have stayed at Skully's.

"Little brother!" Wes declares, running over before he can even get his helmet off. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Soul prickles automatically, though he doesn't show it as he slides his helmet off. He doesn't like when Wes acts they haven't seen each other in decades instead of literally less than twenty-four hours ago.

"Yeah," Soul says. "It is a pleasant surprise."

Wes lets out a little chortle, turning and clapping Soul on the back. "You're so funny."

Soul prickles further, because now he smells something _afoot._ Wes is always friendly, but when he's too friendly, he's after something.

"Uh huh." He starts to walk toward the house as well and Wes waits for him, swinging an arm around his shoulders.

"Ohhh no," Soul says, sliding out from under Wes's arm. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" Wes says innocently. "I can't be excited to see my little brother?"

"You're too excited," Soul says, holding up his thumb. " _And_ you called me funny." He extends his pointer finger and extends the two fingers towards Wes's face, because pointing out the obvious is the only way he ever seems to be able to convince Wes of anything.

"Excuse me," Wes says in faux-shock. "This is a total defamation of my character. Can't a big brother dote on the second-born? Pay him compliments without any ulterior motives other than spreading his affection?"

" _No,_ " Soul says, walking past him, and spots something under the outdoor lamp beside the house. "What's the wood for?"

"...Oh, that?" Wes flutters his hand around. "That's just some wood that needs to be moved upstairs. A girl with a wagon brought it over today." He blows out his lips a little, folding his arms and looking skyward. "It's _really_ light, I just, you know, haven't had time… busy schedule today…"

Soul sends him a glare, reaching down to touch it. "This doesn't look light at all."

"Oh, well," Wes says. "I know someone as strong as you-"

"I'll help you move the wood, Wes," Soul says with a huff.

"Thank youuuuu!" Wes singsongs, grabbing a couple of planks. "What a nice coincidence that my kind and helpful little brother happened to swing by today."

"Ugh. Yeah." Soul heaves a few planks of wood up onto his shoulder and starts to teeter up the stairs, ducking around the corner at the top of the stairs to deposit the wood into a little pile by the saws. "You owe me, though."

"Yes, yes, of course," Wes says, and they continue like this for a little while, taking the wood up in shifts.

It is _not_ light. This stuff must be red oak or something. It's not dark enough to give him childhood flashbacks, but it's still dense enough that his shoulders protest when he tries to swivel it around the upstairs corner. Sometime during this process, Wes decides that he'd rather hang around upstairs and 'guide the wood' to its pile, leaving him to do the bulk of - and by the bulk of, he means _all of_ the heavy lifting. Soul begins to silently curse whoever this Wagon Girl is, but he grits his teeth and finishes the task with minimal outward complaining.

"So, how was work?" Wes asks him as he intercepts one of the wood deliveries.

Soul shrugs. "It's work. Blake's annoying." Wes is still looking at him expectantly, so he elaborates. "Business isn't that busy yet, but they're interviewing a new girl tomorrow, so I'm guessing it'll pick up."

"Fun, fun," Wes says, following him downstairs. "And you think the… management is doing well?"

"Yeah," Soul says. "The manager…" He was going to say _runs a tight ship_ , but it's too punny. "... is pretty strict."

"That's good to hear," Wes says. "It's not strange? Being back in there?"

The two of them pick up a last round of wood, Soul's back protesting as he lifts his pile up.

"Nah. It's okay," he grunts as they start up the stairs. "It... doesn't feel like the same place at all."

Once they've got the wood sitting in its little pile and Soul finishes rolling out his shoulder, they amble back downstairs, listening to the sound of cars driving by on the road in the distance.

"I'm glad," Wes finally says, and Soul glances at him. "I'm glad that it feels like a new place. That you can work somewhere that isn't so, uh… _monopolized_."

Soul nods. He hadn't thought about it much, but… yeah. It's kind of a relief.

"You wanna go home?" Wes says.

Soul shakes his head. "I'd rather go… anywhere else, actually."

Wes grins at him, but Soul can also feel a sadness in the way he turns away, tossing him his car keys.

"Then get in. Let's go get ice cream."

The rest of his night is spent heading into town, grabbing Ben & Jerry's, and driving home to eat it in their driveway, surveying the lights inside the house.

"You _wanted_ Ben & Jerry's," Soul says as he shoves another bite of Phish Food in his mouth. "I'm surprised."

"I always want Ben & Jerry's," Wes says. The shock on his face is more genuine than before. "We just never have it. And I know _you_ always want Ben & Jerry's, too."

"Not always," Soul says. "It's not that good."

"It _is_ that good," Wes counters. "But that's not why you like it. You like it because it's _rebellious._ "

"What the hell are you talking about?" Soul says.

"One of the ten stores in town that the Evans family doesn't own," Wes says knowingly. "You're exercising _brand disloyalty_. Sticking up for the little man. The proletariat of ice cream shops."

"Ben & Jerry's is like, a massive corporation, you know that right?" Soul says, rolling his eyes.

"Mmm." Wes shrugs with a spoon in his mouth. "But it's the _principle_."

Soul shrugs back. "Tell mom and dad to make a better cookie dough than Ben, or Jerry, or _whoever_ , and we can have this conversation."

"All right." Wes gives up the fight and looks up towards the lights again. "Wanna go in?"

"...Not really."

Wes lets out a little sigh, head against the headrest. "Okay. I need to get inside and do some practicing. But I'll dodge their questions. Come in when you can."

"Yeah, okay."

And so, as Wes walks inside and another series of lights flicks on inside, Soul is a fly on the wall, wrestling with a gnawing feeling in his gut: nostalgia, jealousy, regret.

It's like he's watching a family other than his own go about their lives, in a home that he doesn't recognize anymore.


	2. Richest Love Ain't Growin' On The Trees

When Maka slips out the door the next day, the seagulls bid her farewell.

It's a lazy stroll into town this morning. She has another wagonful of wood to discard, but Nana had sent her out early enough that she has some time to stand next to the inlet, watching the boats linger in the bay before they return to the marina for their noontime rests.

When she arrives at the antique shop, the same white-haired man from yesterday greets her.

"She's dependable!" he exclaims, and then glances at the clock on the wall. "And early!"

His friendliness puts her at ease, and she laughs a little. "I had somewhere to be this morning. I hope that's okay."

"No problem at all! I'm getting started on a table today," he says. "This wood is beautiful. I had my… assistant help me bring it upstairs last night and I couldn't wait to get my hands on it. What is your name, by the way? I anticipate that we will keep running into each other, if you still have more of this fabulous timber."

"I'm Maka," she says, reaching out to shake his hand.

"Wesley," he replies, his smile warm. "Or Wes, if you like. Thank you again. It really is a pleasure."

"I can help you take this batch upstairs now, if you like," she says, rolling up her sleeves.

"Oh no," he says, shaking his head. "That won't be nec-"

"I insist," she says, turning and heading out the door without another word.

Once outside, he gives her a little shrug-smile combination and ultimately lets her get to work. She gets about half the pile upstairs before he steps in, _assuring_ her that his assistant will be _more_ than happy to bring up the rest, and she relents.

"Thank you," he says. "That should be more than enough to get started with. It really is some fantastic wood."

Maka hesitates for a moment, not wanting to say too much. "That wood was… special to my grandmother," she finally says. "So I'm glad that Nana found someone who'll take good care of it."

He touches a hand to his heart and nods. "I'll let you see everything I make. Promise."

"I'd... really like that," she says after a moment, and she needs to turn away from him, because there's a strange prickling heat in her eyes that nobody, especially a random carpenter that she met yesterday, needs to see. Before she exits the shop, however, she pauses. "Hey… if it's not too much trouble, do you think I could leave the wagon here this morning?"

His face brightens even more, gray eyes widening. "Of course! Leave it as long as you'd like!"

"Thanks," she says with a wave, letting out a little breath as the prickling recedes. "See you this afternoon."

When she finally arrives at Skully's, the sun has come up over the inlet, and the water is dazzling. She wants to stay here, to take in the morning air before the town lights up with the sounds of tourist traffic.

But Skully's awaits, and in she goes, the foghorn welcoming her as she leaves the sea behind.

""Heeeey, she's back!" comes the unmistakable tenor of Blake's voice from the kitchen window. "Didn't bring a book this time, did you?"

Maka smiles and slides the tip of a book out of her bag before letting it drop back in. "Don't leave home without it," she says sweetly.

"Ten minutes early," Kid murmurs approvingly from the table he is seated at with Liz, making a check mark on a short list in front of him. When Maka produces her resume, he takes it immediately and begins marking it up. Liz smiles at her, and then nods her head at the kitchen. The message is clear: _if that idiot can get hired, you'll be fine._

"Let's get started," Kid says, putting on and adjusting a pair of thick, dark-rimmed glasses. Liz also puts on a pair - though the window next to them seems be getting much more attention than Maka's resume as Liz adjusts her hair.

The interview goes as expected, at least on Kid's end - lots of questions about her experience in food service or about customer unexpected portions occur due to outside influences - such as, for example, when Blake hollers from the kitchen if Kid could please inquire about whether Maka is capable of doing a keg stand.

" _Please_ don't tell me that is actually on your resume," Liz says, tearing her gaze from the window.

" _Please_ don't tell me you think I have ever wasted a second of my life making a resume," Blake shoots back, and Liz puts her hands up in the physical approximation of 'fair enough.'

"No resume required for your star employee?" Maka says wryly, glancing down at her marked-up resume in Kid's hand.

Impassive, Kid adjusts his glasses, but there's a kernel of frustration simmering in his eyes. "Yes, well. Our fathers are… acquaintances."

"Sometimes," Liz stage whispers to Maka behind her hand, "getting a job around here is more about _who_ you know."

It's meant to be helpful, but it's only confusing, and Maka opens her mouth to ask what that _means_ when the waiter from yesterday walks in the front door.

"Oh, perfect," Liz says, gesturing toward the waiter with grandeur. "Perfect example."

"...Hah?" the waiter says.

"Soul's family owns half the town," Liz says, nodding towards him, and Maka's eyes brighten with recognition.

"Oh! Hey, does a… relative of yours work at the antique shop across the bridge?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah," he says, walking over to their table. "My brother… oh, god. Are you Wagon Girl?" he says. Something that can only be described as Mounting Horror appears on his face, and it makes Maka bristle.

"That's not a nickname I particularly enjoy," she says, crossing her arms. "But yes, that's probably me."

He is clearly taken aback by her honesty, and he recoils as he grumbles, "Carried so much of that wood upstairs last night..."

"Oh, please. It's not _that_ heavy," Maka says, irritated and suddenly regretting that she'd moved half of that wood upstairs this morning. "Not any heavier than a few of those trays-"

"Oh-ho!" Blake exclaims through the window. "Is that a _challenge_ I smell?"

"That's probably the fries you're burning," Liz says evenly, and Blake's triumphant expression flips into an abashed one as he retreats back into the kitchen, accompanied by a shout of "this isn't over, Thompson!"

Kid shoots Liz a grateful glance, then turns back to his notes. Soul uses this opportunity to make a quick getaway, ducking down the hallway before Blake returns.

"Well," Kid says, adjusting his glasses a third time. "We got a bit side-tracked, but everything seems to be in order. We'll let you know as soon as a decision is made."

 _You're hired_ , Liz mouths at Maka, shooting her a smile and adding in a whisper, "every time he ends an interview like that the person gets hired. See you tomorrow."

" _Hold on!"_ Blake shouts, the smell of charred potato following him in through the kitchen door. "This isn't over!"

"It... is over," Kid says, confused. "I specifically said 10:30 to 11:00, and it is 11:01." He looks up at the clock to cross-check his wristwatch.

"Not exactly what he meant, but yes, you are very punctual," Liz says placatingly, patting him on the arm. "And-" She directs her attention to Blake. "You have orders to fry. No death matches on the lunch hour."

Maka looks up at the clock as well, brow arching thoughtfully. "I should just stay for lunch, actually."

"You sure?" Liz asks. "Nobody else is in the kitchen this morning." They share a grimace, but Maka still laughs.

"I'll take my chances."

She's halfway into a veggie burger that's, shockingly, not even terrible when Kid walks back through the door.

"I spoke with my father," he says primly. "You're hired." He hands her an apron, and as she takes it, she notes that it is perfectly folded, creased into a triangle. "Liz, train her please?"

He walks back into the hallway without another word, and Maka is quickly learning that her new boss is not one for idle chit-chat.

"Got it, chief," Liz says to the door with a grin.

-ɸ-

As soon as Liz whisks away her plate, there's a menu in her face.

"Welcome to Skully's," Liz says, sounding bored. "Your one-stop shop for New England pirate-themed grub."

Blake's beaming face appears in the window again. "Wan' some lobstah bisque? Some fried clay-ms? Some _chowdah_? Some-"

"She's not a guest," Liz grumbles, eyes rolling up to pierce the ceiling. "You don't have to put on the Boston accent-"

"Put on?" Blake raises a scandalized hand to his heart. "Elizabeth. You wound me."

"I'll _wound_ you, all right, if you keep that up," she says, brandishing a pint glass, and her intimidation must be successful, because he disappears into the kitchen, leaving them in peace for at _least_ the next five minutes. "Anyway. Let me show you around."

Maka gets a tour of the bar, the patio, and the different table setups, while Liz explains things like divisions in the table sections, which plates come out the hottest and how to balance trays on one's arms in such a way that not even Blake, whirlwind that he is, can topple them.

Since business is slow, Liz… _encourages_ Soul-the-waiter to join them for this part of the tour, and though he is staunchly unwilling to serve as a model for how to carry trays, he does give a surprisingly thorough - if stilted - explanation of the game room in the corner of the restaurant and its frequent inhabitants.

"Darts," Soul says, pointing to the corner of the room where the board sits perched on one bent, precarious-looking nail. "Middle-aged fishermen with dogs. Too many cigarettes."

He leans back against the pool table and points at it. "College kids that think they've got game. Middle aged fishermen that suck at darts."

"How… do you know all of this?" Maka asks him, and he looks surprised at the question.

"Oh. Uh. I used to… come here a lot, back when this restaurant was just a brew pub," he explains. His hesitation makes it seem like he's leaving something out, but she doesn't press. "Anyway. It's a new restaurant, but a lot of the same people come in."

"People like coming back to the same places," she says, nodding. "Shareport, especially."

He looks at her curiously, but she just shakes her head. He's not the only one who can be mysterious.

There's an old Galaga machine that he spends a minute standing at, flicking the joystick, before pointing at it and saying, "Blake, mostly."

And finally, they reach a pinball machine, tucked away in a corner of the room. Surprisingly, Soul doesn't approach it, and he and Liz exchange an exasperated glance.

"... And this one?" Maka finally says after five seconds of nobody saying anything.

"This one… has a motion sensor," Soul says. "We think it's broken, cause once it sees you, it _never shuts up_."

"...What?" Maka says. "It can't be that bad."

"See for yourself," he says with a shrug.

She walks in front of the machine. It's medieval-themed, with swords and cups and crowns decorating its insides, and when it sees her, it instantly lights up, flashing in little circles and swirls. But the most notable part of its activation is undoubtedly the song it bursts into:

"Excaliburrrrrrrrr! Excaliburrrrrrrrrr! From the United Kingdom-"

"The machine's from the United Kingdom?" Maka asks over the noise.

"It's from _Detroit_ ," Soul and Liz say in unison, identical expressions of disgust on their faces.

"Can we move?" Soul adds. "You'll be able to hear it from the bar, anyway."

Maka nods, eager to remove herself from the serenade, and when they get back to the bar, it has repeated the same jingle three times.

"Give it... twenty minutes," Liz says, checking her watch. "It'll stop eventually."

"I'm sorry I asked," Maka says, grimacing.

"Don't worry about it. I feel like it's part of the initiation." Liz shrugs, grabbing a towel. "Anyway. C'mon back here." She spins around to face the taps with a reverent expression on her face, extending her arms wide. "Let me show you the beer."

* * *

Soul's afternoon passes quickly and with minimal interruptions from Blake, except for his attempts to incite a Tray Holding Contest after this morning's conversation. In an impressive show of solidarity, the entire staff goes mysteriously deaf every time Blake brings it up, and when four o'clock rolls around, Soul is free.

He makes his way down the stairs, and makes a beeline for his motorcycle as usual, and he's fiddling with the handlebars when a voice rings out from behind him.

"Oh, so _you're_ the one who drives this!" He turns around to see Wagon Girl heading down the stairs, and she looks… impressed. "Nice."

This is surprising, and he probably looks surprised. "You like it?"

"I do," she says with a nod. "It's very cool. Um…" She fiddles with her hands for a moment, choosing her words. "I'm Maka, by the way. I never introduced myself this morning."

It's true. She didn't. He appreciates not having to refer to her as Wagon Girl anymore, as it brings back bad memories. "Nice… to meet you," he says, and he finds, despite all of the pain she has caused him in the last twenty-four hours, that he means it.

"You... heading back home?" she asks.

"I was gonna… stop at the shop first," he says with a sort of strained amusement. "...In case there's any wood I need to move."

She laughs. "Actually, I need to go back there too. I... have a wagon to pick up," she says, lip quirking.

"Uh huh." They're both grinning now. "What's... with the wagon, anyway?" he asks.

"I don't have a car up here. Well," she amends, "no car that I can _drive._ " To his questioning glance she adds, "Nana's car is a stickshift, and-"

"You haven't learned stick," he says, finishing her sentence.

"Yeah." She shrugs a little, hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. "I just never had the chance."

He's not sure what exactly makes him say it, at that moment - he's not one to offer favors to people that he doesn't know... or anyone, really - but something in the universe wills him forward.

"I mean…" he says, a bashful hand against his neck. "I could teach you. If you want."

The question hangs in the air for a moment as she processes this, tilting her head sideways.

"Would it be… on a motorcycle?" she says with a little laugh.

"Oh, uh-" He glances down at the motorcycle, understanding the miscommunication. "Nah. We've got… other cars back at the house."

"Other _cars_?" she asks. "Plural?"

"Big family," he says, but now he's frustrated, because he doesn't _like_ talking about these things. He grinds the toe of his shoe into the gravel. "You wanna learn, or not? Doesn't... matter to me either way."

"Mmm," she says, crossing her arms as she sizes him up. "...Yeah." A small smile cracks through her expression. "I'd like to learn. After work tomorrow?"

"... Sure," he says, and as he turns to grab a helmet from the front of the motorcycle, there's something almost like excitement tugging at him. But that's not normal, so he tamps it down. "Okay, Wagon Girl. I'll see you… oh." He stops and looks up at her again, helmet in his hands. He's knows why he's embarrassed to ask the next question - it's the first time he's asked anyone, after all - but it's only polite to offer, right?

"Do you uh… you want a ride to the shop?"

They both watch each other for a moment, as if they're _both_ unsure of what she's going to say. But in a moment, she's crossing the space between them and taking the helmet from his hands. "Yeah, okay."

As they ride back across the bridge, the afternoon sun is warm, and Soul wrestles with the fact that this is such a new feeling, so _interesting_ , having someone take a ride behind him, arms at his back. It's... nice, having someone there, though again, he doesn't investigate it too deeply. It's not like it means anything. It's just a ride. A favor.

Maka is doing that thing that everyone does when they ride the first time - she's hesitant to lean in to turns, hesitant to sit too close - and honestly, Soul is fine with that, because if there's one thing that he knows for sure about this whole situation, it is the following: if Wes is outside when they arrive, he is going to get so much _shit._

And because the universe does not like him one bit, when they pull into the driveway of the shop, the first thing he sees is Wes, standing in the front yard with a quirked eyebrow and a _very_ amused expression.

"Well _hello_ , Maka. Little brother," Wes says, a wide grin plastered across his face as he looks between the two of them.

Subtlety has never been his brother's strong suit, and nothing spells that out more than the current state of Maka's wagon.

Sliding off the back of the motorcycle, Soul and Maka both walk over to the wagon, taking in the sight of her wagon - wooden boards tightened and glossed, and a fresh paint job on the metal parts. But the most obvious part is the giant wooden sign nailed to the side of the house, white with green lettering, that says _Maka's Wagon_. Wes had even encased it with planks on either side, mapping out the exact place where, presumably, she'd left it this morning.

"You gave it a parking spot," Maka says flatly.

"And you didn't even _use_ the wood I brought up yesterday," Soul gripes.

In an instant, Wes's faux-affronted face has made its triumphant return. "Of course I gave it a parking spot!" he says to Maka. "Only the best for my suppliers. And excuse-moi, Soul." He gestures to the painted sign. "Where do you think this wood is from?"

"Aren't you supposed to make stuff to _sell_?" Soul says, rolling his eyes.

"I'm an artiste," Wes says. "I do what inspires me. Speaking of which," he says, pulling Soul away and whispering loudly, "What inspired _you_ to give a pretty girl a ride to the shop today, hmm?"

He'd been prepared for this, but somehow, he still finds himself totally unprepared to respond. "Ugh. We work together. It was _just_ a ride, don't be weird." Wes bumps their shoulders together and Soul winces, a combination of yesterday's lifting workout and Wes's _implications_. "Dude. We met like _today_."

Luckily, Maka is quick to save him from his misery. "Hey Wes, can you explain to me what gloss you used on the wagon?"

"Oh!" Wes comes running, and Soul shoots her a grateful glance behind his back. "Do you love it?"

It appears that honesty is one of Maka's core personality traits. "It's... something," she says.

"I know, I know, it's over the top, but since you'll be bringing it back and forth so much, I figured it would be nice to give it a home!"

"It is definitely over the top," she agrees. "It's ridiculous. But it's also very sweet. You got a lot done in a few hours," she adds.

"Once he gets an idea, you won't see him again until it's done," Soul says. He's re-entering the conversation with his toes in the water, weighing whether Wes is sufficiently distracted.

"Hey, I did this for you, too, little brother!" Wes swoons, pointing at a small stack of wood in the yard. "That's all that's left today!"

"It's... not that heavy," Soul mutters. Maka gives him a _massive_ eye roll at that, but he carefully avoids eye contact, already ducking into the doorway to make quick work of the wood.

"Okay, I'm gonna get going," he hears Maka say through the upstairs window. "I'll bring more over tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure thing!" Wes says. "If you want to come back tomorrow on the bike, you could, y'know… make a habit out of it."

"Wes," she says. "It really was just a ride. And… not that it's any of your business, but I'm not in the market for… all of that, right now."

That is something worth noting, and Soul has noted it. "And stop offering people rides on my bike without my permission!" he yells, poking his head out of the window upstairs.

Wes just laughs, unabashed. "Alright, have a good night! We have a dinner to attend," he says, and Soul slowly withdraws from the window, unimpressed. He'd forgotten that they had that little _function_ this evening.

"Good luck with that," Maka says, loudly enough that Soul can hear. "And I'll see you both tomorrow."

* * *

Maka walks back in through the side door just in time for dinner, and Nana winks at her when she comes through the door, a finger twirled around the cord of her kitchen phone.

"And what are you up to this evening?" Nana says into the phone, pointing at the already-full plate in Maka's normal spot at the table. "Oh no, don't you steer this conversation away. Yes, she's here. Just got home. She's just fine. Working hard and succeeding at everything she does, just like her Nana." She meets Maka's eye and winks again. "Mhm. So tonight. You're gonna have a nice relaxing meal and go to sleep, yes? Mhm. No jaunts to the _seedy_ parts of town? Good. Alright, alright, hold on."

"You wanna talk to him?" she mouths, fully prepared to continue if Maka says no, but Maka nods, getting up and accepting the phone.

"Hey, Papa," she says, bracing herself.

" _Maka!_ Hello, darling! How are you! Is Nana spoiling you?"

He's easy to hear through the phone, and Nana scoffs, offended at the notion that she _wouldn't_ be spoiling her granddaughter.

"Always, Papa," Maka says. Nana leans back in her chair, and takes a sip of her tea, appeased. "I'll take good care of her, okay? I got a job at a place downtown today."

Nana and Papa's reactions are so identical that she almost laughs - even though she can't see him, she can picture his face _in_ Nana's, in the blue-green joy radiating from her eyes. "Great job, baby girl! Daddy's so proud of you!"

She still finds the nickname a little grating, but she ignores it. "Thanks, Papa. I'm gonna go, Nana has dinner on the table. You doing okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I was thinking that I might bring the car up there this weekend, if you need it," Spirit says, his voice still wavering with excitement.

"Oh!" Maka says. "Um… actually. I'm okay," she says. "You can keep it."

She can hear the disappointment in his voice. "...You sure? You don't need it for the wood? Nana mentioned you've been using the wagon."

"... Yeah," she says, and she's not entirely sure why a small smile is working its way onto her face, but it's there. "I've... got some other options for transport. So I don't need a car."

"Okay, baby girl. Love you."

"You too, Papa."

She sits down in the kitchen, feeling a little wired, a little stretched. She's been in this kitchen so many times, but suddenly, the summer feels full of _possibility._ The dichotomy between familiar and new is bizarre, and she feels, all of a sudden, like this summer's going to be one to remember.

"Hey, Nana?"

"Yeah, MK?"

"Thanks… for having me stay this summer," she says, looking up from her mashed potatoes.

Nana's expression softens, and she leans over to kiss Maka on the head. "Oh, baby girl. Don't you worry. It's _no_ problem at all."


	3. Never Wanna Leave This Sunset Town

When Soul pulls into her driveway the next day, she's instantly amused.

"Nice… ride," Maka says as Soul rolls down the window, and the smug expression he'd been wearing instantly turns wary.

"... What's that face?" he says as he slides out of an old, black, _fancy_ BMW. Once he's fully out of the car, she catches a glimpse of the interior - a deep red that looks like it has never been sat in.

She rearranges her face into what she hopes is something resembling careful innocence. "Don't worry about it. It's just… not what I expected."

Kicking at dirt appears to be a hobby of his. "It wasn't expensive, okay?"

She laughs. "Oh, no. It's not that." She walks up to his door and holds her hand out for the keys. "I'll… tell you soon. Promise. You'll think it's funny."

He doesn't want to drop the subject _or_ the keys, she can tell - or maybe he's just hesitant to give up control of his black-and-red baby. She watches the keys dangle from his fist, little white lines etching themselves into his knuckles.

"Getting cold feet?" she asks. It's a challenge, and apparently he responds well to challenges, because he drops his keys into her hand like a hot potato and stalks to the other side of the car.

Her confidence fades as soon as she gets into the driver's seat, but Maka subscribes to the life philosophy of Fake It 'Til You Make It, and will not be deterred.

"Just let me try it out before you tell me anything, okay?" she asks, and Soul quirks an inquisitive eyebrow at her, but says nothing.

She surveys the dashboard, the key in her hand, and the three pedals at her feet, the plastic on them worn heavy with time. Next, she examines the stick shift, with a thumbprint stain worn away in the painted metal. It's a stark contrast to the perfect, immaculate red leather interior that surrounds them. It makes the car seem more... loved, somehow. Lived in. More like a car that's _seen_ things, and less like a car that belongs in a museum.

"...Forget where the key goes?" he asks. When she looks up to glare at him, he pulls back on the snark a little. "I'm kidding. You okay?"

"Yep," she says, but the question frazzles her enough that she turns the ignition fast, the car revving to life. When she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, he's staring resolutely ahead, but she can _feel_ his smirk.

" _Don't_ say anything," she says again, and this time he obeys, giving her only one noncommittal shrug.

She tests out all three pedals without putting anything into gear, alternating her feet between them as she tries to feel out what it feels like to switch between the accelerator and the clutch. She's sure that he's watching her out of the corner of his eye, because as soon as she stops and looks at him, his eyes fly forward again.

"Okay," she says. "I'm ready. Give me a pep talk, coach."

He seems to relax at this, though it's only now that she realizes he was tense in the first place. When he turns his gaze on her, she's not nervous anymore, only attentive, prepared to start the beginnings of her tutelage.

"Kay," he says. He makes a show out of putting his feet up on the dash and fixing her with a lazy smile. "First. What do you know? About stick, I mean."

"Plenty," she says. In theory. But that's the problem, isn't it? She's all theory and no practice. It's one thing to put your skills to the test in your head; it's quite another when you have to put that knowledge to use.

"Alright," he says, humoring her. He is, at least, giving her the benefit of the doubt, which is appreciated. "Can you give me a summary? I feel like you're good at summaries."

Fake it 'til you make it. "Hm. Okay. Hit accelerator. Uh. Hit clutch." she says, pointing to the pedal on the left and looking up at him. "Hit them together, I guess. Let up on clutch until you feel the gear change. Drive car. Repeat."

His eyes are laughing. "That's… true, I guess."

Faking it is exhausting, and it makes her prickly. "If you're so _smart_ , why don't you just tell me? You don't have to lord it over me." She crosses her arms and lets out a huff, hair from her pigtails spilling onto her shoulders.

He's grinning now, and it looks _stupid_. "Nah. I think this is one of those things you learn by doing it. So maybe we should just go for it."

"...Yeah." She shoots him a strained grin. "All right."

He watches her for another minute, but whatever evaluation he's currently making of the situation, of _her_ , sitting in his driver's seat with lead in her bones, he keeps it to himself.

"All right. Seat belt, cool kid," she says, and he lets out a dramatic sigh and puts it on - even though she knows he'd already been reaching for it.

"...Okay, driving ace," he says, taking his feet down off the dash. "Let's see if you're a stick shift prodigy."

Maka is decidedly _not_ a stick shift prodigy.

"Holy _shit!_ " Soul yelps as they come to another screeching halt in the middle of a back road, surrounded by trees and driveways leading down to cabins in the wilderness - but _not_ surrounded, thankfully, by any unwitting pedestrians or motorists.

"Stop _grabbing the bar_ ," Maka mutters, slamming her foot onto the clutch once more in order to get the car to budge.

"It's called the oh shit bar for a reason!" Soul exclaims, his voice half an octave higher than its normal baritone. "And would you take it _easy_ -"

"It's not actually _called_ the oh shit bar," she retorts over the sound of the shaking car as it desperately attempts to get itself back into first gear.

"Well I'm certainly _understanding where people get the name from_ ," he shoots back, both hands curled around the bar above his window like he's wielding a bazooka - only in this case, he has no ammo, as he's equipped only with a pointed tone and ample regrets.

"I didn't _ask_ for your opinion," she says, and with another slam of her foot, the car kickstarts into first gear, rolling along the road with a slow, miserable amble. "And anyway, that bar is called a grab-handle-"

"Oh my _god_ ," he says, hitting his head against the headrest. "I did not and will never ask for a history of the oh shit bar. Please." He pauses to catch his breath. "Anyway, like I was saying. Take it easy. You don't have to pretend that you're kicking someone's skull in when you're pressing the clutch."

"Well, maybe next time, don't teach people to drive stick for the first time in one of your prized possessions," she says, knuckles white on the shifter as she tries to time their leap into second gear. "You should have brought along a crappier car."

"Maybe you should be a little more _open to suggestions_ so you don't wreck one of my prized possessions," he grumbles.

She lets the car drift to a slow, angry stop on the side of the road before she puts it in park, sending him a glare poised to penetrate his soul.

"I _am_ open to suggestions," she says, her voice a deadly, angry flat.

"You absolutely are not," he counters, and his own glare is equally potent.

"I am plenty open-minded," she says, "unless it's some _guy_ with this put-on, _fake-cool persona_ who sits here and derides my driving."

He's _clearly_ over this conversation, rolling his eyes as he faces the road again. They sit there for a moment, seething at each other, staring at the road ahead.

"If you're done with these lessons after twenty minutes, fine," Soul spits, breaking the silence. "Some things take _practice_ , you know. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that you're a perfectionist," he says. "I can tell. And if you don't get something right away, you just _give up_ , because what's the point?"

"That's… not true," she says, but there's a stone sinking in her stomach.

"No?" he says. "You got straight As in school without really trying, right? Made friends easily your whole life?"

She's glass. Transparent as a lens, and he's seeing straight through her. It is _not_ comfortable, not at all, but it does cool her temper, because she's not... unreasonable when it comes to things like this. Well, maybe she _is_ , but there are few things as humbling as clearly spoken truth, and it leaves her feeling a bit sheepish.

"Good at sports without trying, too," she confirms, and he lets out a breath. She can almost _see_ his defensive walls coming back down. He tilts his head to the side, considering her.

"...Stick sucks," he finally says. "It's _hard_. Nobody gets it on the first try."

"Yeah," she says, leaning back against the headrest. "I'm... not afraid to work hard. I just get _frustrated_ when it doesn't come easily, you know?"

"... Yeah," he says. "I get it. Anyway. Take it from someone who doesn't pick up _anything_ easily. You'll get it. You just gotta… how did you say it? Put on a _fake cool persona_ until you do." He sends her a little wounded look, and she starts to laugh.

"I'm… sorry," she says, dropping the laughter so he can hear her sincerity. "Truce?" She holds out her hand and after a moment he takes it, the tension in the car thinning out until it dissipates altogether.

"Okay," he says, facing front again. "Let's... call it a day today, yeah?"

For the rest of the ride, Maka keeps a hold on her frustrations, and Soul doesn't grab the oh shit bar once.

As they drive down the dirt road to Nana's house, Maka says, "Thanks… for today."

"No problem," he says dryly. "It was… fun?"

"Mmm. Sure. Fun," she echoes, adding a smile. She pauses, casting a glance at the house. "Would you... wanna come in? Nana's probably put some tea on by now."

"That's okay," he says, pulling out and checking his phone. "I actually need to get back home. There's an _event_ tonight that I have to be there for."

"You've got a lot of those, huh?" Maka asks. "Wes mentioned that one the other night, too."

He shrugs. "Comes with the territory."

"What do you _do_ at these events?" she asks. She won't press too much, but she _does_ want to know what goes on.

He's silent for a minute, and she isn't sure if he's going to answer at all before he says, "I don't do much. S'lots of stuffy rich people."

"You're not one for schmoozing?" she asks, and he meets her eye with a disdainful sort of amusement.

"My brother's a better _schmoozer_ than I could ever be," he says. "I'm just the… accompaniment."

She's not sure what that means, either, but at this point, they're pulling (or, more accurately, moving forward at various speeds, punctuated by lurching stops) back into the driveway. He jumps out of the car when they come to a stop, and she decides to attribute this behavior to the fact that he is running late and not to the fact that he is eager to be out of the passenger's seat when she is the one driving.

"All right, driving ace," he says, walking around the front of the car as she steps out. "Nice… job today." She grimaces. "Nah, I mean it," he adds, giving her a tiny smile. "I told you. It's not easy. You working tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll see you there," she says with a wave. "Maybe we can drive right after?"

"Yeah," he says with a little shrug. "I guess."

In the early summer sunset, she watches the headlights on his car disappear down the road. For all of its low points, there's… something about today that already has her looking forward to the next lesson.

* * *

The music is playing, the guests are mingling, the night is alive with laughter and chatter, and Soul is miserable.

It's only the beginning of the summer, and this is the fourth time he's had to sit at this piano for an entire evening, hands drifting mindlessly along the keys. There's nothing _surprising_ about it; it's not like he hasn't spent the past ten summers of his life doing the exact same thing, creating background noise for the sorts of people who fear silence.

All around him, southern Maine's richest and most influential talk business deals and sales pitches, peppered with the occasional personal story that nobody actually wants to listen to. This, at least, is somewhat comforting for him; every time his parents had spun an anecdote about he or Wes's accomplishments, it had been met with polite interest and nothing more, and there's something liberating about not being _cared_ about by people that he doesn't even know.

He continues to think thoughts like these as he moves into the next song, nobody noticing the changes in the rhythm, the time signature. Even between this summer and the last, his attitude towards these evenings has worsened; he wants nothing more than to get away from here, and he moves into wishful thinking about hopping onto the bike again, or into the car. The wind is a much better accompaniment than meaningless chatter.

At one point, someone comes over to leave him a 5-dollar bill, which he used to find super cool, when he was a kid, but now every tip only leaves him more jaded, thinking of how they think so highly of themselves, throwing money around and patting themselves on the back for doting on the poor piano player when it's just drops in the bucket for them-

"I like this one," comes a voice from behind him, and his hands almost falter on the keys. "Did father pick this one out, too?"

Soul lets out a little sigh, eyes sliding back towards Wes's white hair. "Nope. This one's mine. He doesn't really get to set my song list anymore."

"Wow," Wes says, leaning up against the piano. "No more Rhapsody in Blue, then? No more Moonlight Sonata.? You're finally free. Congratulations."

Soul laughs, but it comes out more bitter than he intended. "If I were really free, I wouldn't be here right now. How's the night looking?"

"Oh, fine," Wes says, waving a hand. "I believe they've gotten most of their business discussion out of the way, so they're just letting things simmer until they go in for the kill."

"... Sounds like them," Soul says as he reaches up to turn a page. "Are they... gonna come check in?"

"Perhaps," Wes says. "Though I think they're trying to avoid any… hiccups in the schedule." Out of the corner of his eye, Soul can see him grinning.

"Hiccups?" Soul says. "They think I'll cause a hiccup?"

"I mean," Wes says innocently. "I think we all just know that leaving you alone and letting you play is probably the best way to ensure a successful evening."

"And you decided to go against the grain tonight, did you?" Soul says, rolling his eyes.

"I just can't _help_ but keep my little brother company," Wes replies, taking a sip of his drink. "Anyway. I'm coming to let you know that I can take over, whenever you stop, and if you wanted to slip out the back…"

Gratitude rushes over him, but he has appearances to keep up, so he merely grunts. "Okay. Thanks. I'll play one more."

"Sure," he says, flitting away to grab his violin.

And sure enough, he finds the back door unlocked, and it's easy to slip down the back walkway, find his bike, and drive off into the night.

He finds himself by the lighthouse again. He's not sure what it is that draws him here. Maybe it's the easily predictable light, spinning in a circle, or the sound of the water. He thinks about what it might be like, to be the keeper of a lighthouse. Solitary, perhaps, but also peaceful, maybe. It's magnetic, the notion of just listening to the ocean all day, with nobody to ask you questions, nobody to make you feel _obligated_ to do something.

He kicks at the rocks on the pavement, feeling grateful for Wes's liberation tactics, but also a little guilty for leaving him behind. At the very least, he never seems to _mind_ being their parents' lapdog.

But Soul is growing out of it. He can feel it in his bones every day, the need to _escape_ this social function, business-pressure life, and again, a guilt surrounding Wes's role in this hammers away at his resolve.

Of all of the people in his life who listen to respond, Wes had always just listened. And it feels like a betrayal, trying to abandon a life in which his brother plays such a big part.

He doesn't want to go back to that house. But for now, he must. And so, despite the energy dragging him away, he fights the current and returns to the estate, where he will endure another night of bitter sleep.

-ɸ-

During the next driving lesson, it rains, and Soul has the feeling that it's making them both a little wistful. New England summer rain is mostly chilly and damp, and it seeps into the bones, weighing down your soul a little more than a normal summer day would.

Maka is much more quiet than she was last time, and he's discovering that in this state, she is almost impossible to read. He's also on his best behavior - trying not to make her feel gross about driving like she did last time. And in the quiet of the car, he is forced to admit that he finds himself… curious. Wanting to know about her. But he isn't really much better when it comes to that sort of stuff. For all of her fierce independence, he's just a closed book - and he can already tell, by lesson two, that they both totally refuse to be vulnerable.

Of course, there are the inevitable moments where the car comes to a screeching halt and they are both forced to confront a few things: her insecurity about getting things right the first time, and his unwillingness to sympathize about things being hard sometimes. And on top of this, their mutual lack of _patience._ He drives her crazy, she drives him crazy, and there's a part of him that makes him wonder why he ever agreed to do this in the first place.

But it's only a small part. Underneath all of that, he's still curious. He may as well find out more about the person who's going to be endangering his car for the next few weeks, right?

"So… what do you do the rest of the year, anyway?" he asks her. "When you're not hanging out with your grandma and taking years off my life?"

Maka's mouth quirks up. "School," she says simply. "I'm going into senior year at Brown."

"Brown, huh?" he says with a low whistle. "Coulda told me before. That explains the perfectionism."

"And you?" she says. "Who are you bothering with your sass the rest of the year?"

He laughs. This is okay. He can talk about this. "Well… Wes can never escape it," Soul says. "We're both... at music school in New York."

"What do you play?" she says with a little smile.

"...Piano, for school," he says. "But other stuff, too." He looks out the window with his head balanced on his fist.

"...Do you like it?" she asks, after a few seconds of silence. "School, I mean."

"It's school," he says with a little shrug. "So I'm... not great at it. But at least Wes is there."

"... What about piano?" she hedges. "Is that your major?"

He nods again, but then goes quiet, choosing his words carefully. "I… don't compete anymore. Now I'm just the accompaniment."

"Compete?"

"Yeah." He pulls out his phone and starts to scroll to give himself something to do. "I used to do tons of competitions and stuff when I was a kid."

"Not your idea, obviously," she says with a little smile.

"Obviously," he agrees. "But now I just do it for the grades… well, no, I don't care about grades. Honestly, I do it cause…" He stops abruptly. It's too much. Too personal.

"... Cause?" she says.

"Nah." He shakes his head, gazing out the window again. "Don't worry about it."

He wants to be able to open up, in theory. But he's not sure how much she wants to know, and he's even less sure how much he's willing to share.

* * *

At Skully's, Maka's training continues. Waitressing is easier to pick up than stick shift, she is finding, partially because she has so many different sources of information at her disposal. Liz is the bar master, Patty has all kinds of tips for keeping one's energy up, and Tsubaki is the queen of diffusing customer problems.

It's nice, and it's really starting to feel like a little family. Although, as she is forced to remember on one particular evening after work... every family has its kooks.

"And where do you think _you two_ are going?" Blake saunters up behind her and Soul as they walk down the porch stairs, looking very pleased with himself.

"Uh, home?" Soul says, turning around on the stairs to stare up at Blake's cheeky grin that is currently peeking over the side of the patio.

"Ohhh no no no," Blake says. "We've got plans, buckaroo."

"The three of us have plans?" Soul asks, genuinely confused.

"All of us!" Blake shouts, punching the air. "Yes, you too, Nerdlinger." He points at Maka before she can protest. "No books tonight! Only drinks!"

"Uh, hard pass," Maka says. "We all _drove_ here, remember?"

"Did you?" Blake says innocently, and they both lean over the railing to see that Soul's car is MIA.

"... I had your brother swing by earlier and pick up the ole Benzarooni," Blake says. "Dug the keys out of your bag and handed 'em over. He seemed very _eager_ to take it off your hands, actually. Oh, and here-" He picks up Soul's guitar case, which had been stored in his trunk, and thrusts it into his arms. "We're gonna need this."

"This is… so many invasions of privacy," Soul says, but he turns around and leans against the railing with a sort of resigned acceptance.

"Uh, yeah, cause you never _hang out_ ," Blake says. "The only person who's more of a wet blanket than you is Nerdbrain, and-"

"Oh my god, fine," Maka says. "You're making me _need_ a drink." She brushes past them both to squeeze back into the bar, the foghorn covering up any sounds of Blake's excited whooping.

When she enters the bar, Liz already has a blueberry beer ready, and Maka reaches over and downs half of it in one gulp.

"I'd tell you to take it easy, but I've already had three," Liz says, clinking a glass against Maka's and sipping at a blueberry beer of her own.

"Does Kid's dad pay for these little shindigs?" Maka asks, leaning against the bar.

"He's got a… contingency fund for things like this," Liz says with a small wink. "He knows how to have a good time."

"That he do!" Blake says as he makes his way into the room. " _And_ we get his son as our trusty DD!"

Kid looks generally unimpressed at this, which is sort of how he always looks, so Maka's unsure what his feelings are about playing Designated Driver this evening.

"You have assured me that we won't be needing a DD tonight," Kid says dimly, "so I'm not sure what role you could possibly want me to play."

"Oh, my dear boy," Blake says, producing a pint of beer seemingly out of thin air and setting it onto the bar. "My sweet summer child. I said that you wouldn't need to drive a _car._ "

There's an _elaboration_ lurking behind that statement, but whenever Blake is concocting something, Maka has learned that willful ignorance is the best policy.

"Oh! We gotta go down to the beach tonight!" Patty exclaims, brandishing a full-on fifth of vodka in her hand. "The weather's great, it's _cold,_ and there's no fire restrictions this early in the summer!"

"Patty loves to burn stuff," Liz explains to Maka, who grins.

"I just love bonfires and friendship, okay?!" she says, and Liz pulls an arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, okay. Me too, Pat."

"It's already dark enough," Tsubaki says. "Shouldn't we close up here, before we go down?"

Blake's way ahead of her, already pulling the kitchen window down with a rather disconcerting creak.

"This place wasn't built to be your _punching bag,_ " Kid mutters, fingers coming up to rub his temples in perfectly coordinated circles.

"This place is new, isn't it?" Maka says, looking around.

"It's… new to this location, perhaps, yes," Kid says, which sounds like he's dodging the question, but it's such a simple one that she can't fathom why he would dodge it in the first place. "Why?"

"It just… feels old, for some reason," she says after thinking for a moment, trying to grab ahold of what the feeling _is_ in this place. "Kinda… magical, almost?"

"It's the magic of friendship," Patty says very seriously, and Blake grins, giving her a thumbs-up.

"... Maybe so," Maka says. She's unable to put the feeling into words, but she feels like the magic of Skully's is… similar to the magic of the whole town.

As they make their way down to the beach, she turns around to look at the restaurant, set up on its stilts, warm incandescents reflecting in the harbor, and it's only then that she realizes where that strange nostalgia that she can't place is coming from.

It… kind of feels like when she steps into Nana's house.

Thanks to Patty's fire starting skills, the flames are up and roaring within minutes.

"Ooohhh," Patty says, reaching her hands out to feel the heat with a contented sigh. "This is the best."

"Patty's a fan of any time she can wear shorts... especially when it's too cold to wear shorts," Liz explains, and Maka laughs.

"I hate pants, too!" Maka exclaims, which makes Patty reach out and gives her a high five.

"How can you hate pants?" Liz says, patting her jeans sympathetically, as if to comfort them. "They're multifunctional. They're comfortable. They make my ass look great."

"Team pants," Soul agrees. "Though I do _not_ know what my ass looks like in-"

"Ohhh, like hell you don't," Liz says. "This coming from someone who does a full on _inspection_ of yourself in the kitchen mirror when you're on breaks-"

"Liz, please," Blake says, and Soul throws him a grateful glance right before he adds, "Clearly it's not about the ass. If anything, it's to hide those chicken legs."

"...Why am I here?" Soul mutters to the stars overhead, and Maka starts to laugh at this, a choking, wheezing laugh that makes her stomach ache by the time she can draw a full breath. It's contagious, and everyone else joins in, Tsubaki leaning over onto Patty's shoulder to support herself in the wake of actual gasping laughter.

It's one of those laughs that's rare, and totally unbridled; the kind of laugh that you only let slip with people you really care about, eyes alive and streaming with tears, burning in the light of the fire.

When she looks up, Soul, despite being the butt of the joke, is no longer looking defeated but almost… intrigued. When their eyes meet, she's suddenly very aware that he'd been _watching_ her laugh like that, and it makes her demure, mouth thinning out as she looks away, her eyes downcast.

The moment passes, but once the conversation picks back up, her eyes flick back over to where he's sitting. There's something in her brain that... asks a question, presents a _possibility_ , but for the moment, she pushes it back.

Hours pass, but she's not counting the minutes, especially not when Soul reaches behind himself to grab the large case that Blake had thrust upon him, revealing an acoustic guitar, polished wood glinting in the firelight.

He starts to pick at the strings, and as she looks around the faces illuminated by the fire, something in Maka's heart stirs. There's an affection here, a celebration of each of these new friendships she's just beginning to forge. The errant chord-plucking evolves into a soft sort of song that she doesn't recognize, guitar notes trickling in through the conversations.

"You should play something," Maka says from across the fire, and Soul looks up at her, surprised.

"Yeah! Play us a thing!" Blake exclaims, and with the tiniest smile, Soul obliges.

It's another song she doesn't recognize, something sweet and soft and perfect for a night on the beach, and she realizes, all of a sudden, that he's playing _accompaniment._

At the end of the first song, Blake's already hooting and hollering before the final chord.

"Do ya take requests?" Patty asks, and Soul levels her with a stare.

"Not Wonderwall," he deadpans.

"Aw, man!" she shouts to a chorus of laughter, but he ends up playing it anyway, and everybody sings along, the ocean waves serving as harmony in the background.

It's proving to be a less wild night than she'd anticipated, with everyone content to listen to the music after several taxing hours at work. Even Blake has toned it down, content to bounce along to the music.

When the next song ends, they break off into little side-conversations, and Maka turns her sights to Soul again, who is looking at the fire with a contemplative expression on his face, eyes alight in the flames.

"Nice song," she says, turning to face the flames as well. "Who knew you were so good at waiting on people _and_ playing music?"

"He's a jack of all trades," Blake says, clapping him on the back.

"And a master of none," Soul mutters.

"A master of _some_ ," Maka corrects him. "I know you're good at guitar-" She can't tell if he pinks at this, but the way he stares at his shoes suggests that maybe he does. "And piano, too, right?"

"...Yeah," he says, looking like he'd rather end this conversation.

She decides to bring it to a swift end, only saying, "Guess that makes the parents happy, right?"

"Mmm. I'd say they prefer violin, actually," he says, and his gaze is suddenly very far away, and she wants to ask, wants to understand the darker bits reflecting in his eyes.

But if learning stick has taught her anything so far, it's that some things take time. So she lets her question float away on the waves, and waits.

-ɸ-

Maka should have known that Blake's good behavior would only last so long.

"Heeeey, so, friends," Blake says slyly, leaning in towards the fire so that no one can avoid the mischievous grin that's spreading across his face like a rash. "Would you like to take this party elsewhere?"

"... _Where_ elsewhere?" As always, Liz's bullshit radar is completely functional, with a full battery.

"Ohhhh I just thought we could… go for a little trip, with our delightful DD fully prepared to chauffeur us around," Blake says. Kid has already accepted his fate, and is actually standing up, much to everyone's horror.

"Alright, please give him time to emotionally prepare himself," Liz says. "What are you concocting? What are you making him drive? A hot air balloon? A limousine?"

"Elizabeth," Blake admonishes. "You're thinking too big. I'm just trying to introduce some of our out-of-state friends to a normal, run of the mill… New England pastime. No biggity."

Liz, Patty, and Soul are looking equally guilty, and Maka's sure her face doesn't look that different. If only they'd been born in New England.

"We brought this upon you," Patty says, looking up at Tsubaki, "and for that I am sorry."

"It's all right," Tsubaki says. "I bet it'll be fun!"

"I can always count on you, Tsu!" he says, and when he holds his fist out for a bump, she returns it with a giggle.

They make their way across the sand,

"Right this way, comrades," Blake says, walking them back up the beach to a small pier.

"Wait…" Soul says, eyes widening with recognition. "This is the _yacht club_."

Blake doesn't answer - he only _cackles_ , which is a million times worse - and he leads them all down the pier after telling them to be quiet.

"That's rich, coming from him," Soul mutters, and Maka stifles a laugh. Under their feet, the planks creak like they'll give way any moment.

"You do realize that this is absolutely trespassing, right?" Kid says.

"Aw, c'mon, our DD is allowed to visit his whale watching boat on a paltry Saturday evening," Blake says, picking a pair of keys out of his pocket and tossing them Kid's way.

"How does he keep _doing_ that?" Soul says. Maka pats her pocket to verify that her own keys are still there, and finds them there, but given Blake's track record, she's not positive that they'll be there the next time she checks.

"You have a whale watching _boat_?" Liz hisses. Kid has the decency to look ever so slightly abashed.

"It's… a side business," Kid says. When everyone looks at him, dumbfounded, he adds, as if this would somehow help the situation: "Father loves orcas."

"And what, pray tell, is the name of this whale watching business?" Liz asks, equally curious and indignant, like she's been kept in the dark on a money-making opportunity - which, incidentally, she absolutely has.

"Eternal Rest Whale Watching," he says.

" _Eternal Rest?_ Are you killing the whales?!" Liz exclaims, which earns her a chorus of hushes.

"It's meant to be relaxing," Kid says. "You're resting while whale watching. And I suppose the name comes from orcas, too. They're a predatory species." When everyone stares at him again, he can't think of anything else to say, so he reminds them: "Father's fond of black and white."

It must run in the family, she muses as she considers his work uniform, as well as the black-on-black ensemble he's chosen to wear this evening: a black t-shirt with a symmetrical design on its front, white lines bursting from a central point like a wave.

"Aaaanyway," Blake says, once they're all huddled in front of the boat. "Welcome to a New England staple. New Yorkers, southwesterner," he says, nodding at the four of them. "Consider this your initiation. Whale watching is the only way to truly assimilate into Nor'easter culture, and it's very important that you put on the badge."

"Aren't they sleeping, though?" Maka says. Blake smiles at her knowingly, shaking his head.

"Not at sunrise."

"At _sunrise_?" Soul says with a groan, and Tsubaki's enthusiasm from before is waning, Maka can tell, as she slumps against the side of the boat a little.

"That is like, three hours from now," Liz says. "And isn't it super dangerous to drive a boat at night?"

"I'm used to it," Kid says with a small shrug. "Father liked to go for night drives, and I'd practice. Besides, I have impeccable night vision."

"Of course you do," Soul mumbles.

The boat makes its way out into the night, sending white ripples out into the black beyond of the ocean. They're all settled in, equipped with blankets against the cooling spray of the sea.

"Aren't orcas super rare in the Atlantic, though?" Maka asks Kid after a few minutes of silence.

She thinks she sees him nod in the darkness. "They are. I'd be surprised if we saw them. We'll probably see humpbacks, as they have breeding grounds around here."

"But you guys keep the focus on orcas, huh?" she says.

"Yes," Kid says. "I think… I think father enjoys that seeing them is a bit special. A rare event. That way, when people see it, they appreciate it more."

Maka ponders this, sitting down in between Liz and Soul. It's a nice sentiment, she decides, that rare things are often beautiful things.

In terms of marine life, they don't run into anything except a few patches of seaweed that Liz finds more horrifying than she probably should ("I don't like when it touches my feet, okay?"), as well as one sea cucumber that's managed to hook itself into the back of the boat with a surprising degree of tenacity. Patty, overjoyed, plucks it off and tosses it into the water with a flourish, while Liz is looking a little green behind her.

For much of the trip, the boat ride is also less chaotic than anticipated... until it isn't.

"Hey!" Blake jumps up, pointing at something out in the water. "Did you guys see that?!"

"How can you _see_ anything out here?" Soul gripes. The sky is still pitch-black, but nonetheless, everyone is shaken out of their reveries and get up to look, accompanied by some disgruntled muttering. With everyone on one side, the boat tips sideways slightly.

Kid, seemingly unfazed by this, stops the boat and moves to the other side, attempting to balance his weight against six other people of somewhat similar stature. It is not successful, especially when Blake leans out of the boat to continue to peer into the blackness.

"No!" he crows, pointing. "I definitely see something over there! It's moving!"

Like a cockatiel to a shiny object, Blake is captivated, sights set on his goal. As such, he chooses this moment to wind up, pulling his arms back to jump into the water-

"Are you crazy?!" Soul says, lunging for him, and Patty grabs him as well, though she doesn't seem to find the situation as dire as Soul does, as she's laughing hysterically. "You think jumping in the water is gonna help us see a whale?!"

"I'm pretty sure I already _saw_ a whale!" Blake yells. "I wanna get out there and hang out. Wanna come with?"

Without waiting for an answer, he leaps off the side of the boat, and into the freezing water, tugging Soul and Patty in with him and making a beeline for whatever he'd seen. The two of them come up sputtering and laughing, respectively, though both of them loudly declare how _freezing cold_ the water is while Blake swims away, cackling in excitement.

"I did nothing to deserve this," Soul laments as he and Patty are pulled back in, boat lurching to the side again as everyone puts in a hand to drag them back into the boat.

"You were caught up in Blake's master plan," Liz says solemnly, tossing them both towels. "There was no hope once you interfered."

Soul's teeth are already chattering, and Maka takes the towel from him, wrapping it around his head and drying off his hair. He looks up at her after a moment, still looking like a sad, wet dog, but it dawns on her that... he can do this himself, can't he?

Again she demures, letting go of the towel and sitting down on the side of the boat. Soul tugs the towel around himself, likely distracted by his freezing temperature, but beside him, Maka can feel her face burning.

She must be radiating heat, because once Soul also sits down, he scoots next to her, closes his eyes and shivers some more, his need for warmth apparently more important than any embarrassment he might be harboring.

Or maybe… she's the only one that's embarrassed. But for the moment, she won't think about it, content to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her quiet, prickly driving instructor, who's currently the victim of some terrible Blake-driven luck.

A few meters away, Blake solemnly announces that his "whale" was, in fact, just a lobster buoy.

-ɸ-

As dawn begins to break, Blake elects to keep everyone awake with conversation instead of with near-death experiences.

"Did you know I can speak whale?" Blake asks, leaning contentedly against the seat at the front of the boat.

"... Yeah, okay, Dory," Maka says, leaning back too, looking around Soul's head to gaze at the soft blue that's beginning to come over the horizon.

"Nah, Disney broke that down totally differently," he says. "You can talk to any animal with human words. Watch."

He fixes his gaze to a group of seagulls sequestered on a rock, awaiting their breakfast.

"Hey, seagulls!" he shouts, and their heads snap to attention, looking at him with almost comical syncrosity. "See?"

"That's just because you made a noise," Soul says, who is still sitting squished up against Maka, though he is now curled in on himself, with three blankets on top of him, hood and towel covering his hair as he leans back against the side of the boat. Patty is in a similar state, laying on Liz's lap and cocooned in several blankets.

"Is that how you speak to the captain of our exhibition?!" Blake says, who has absolutely no blankets to his name. "We're like real pirates tonight, after all!"

"This pirate is ready for bed," Liz says. "And I'm not the only one." She tucks an arm around already-snoozing Patty, and Tsubaki's eyes are heavy as well, drifting off every few minutes.

"How you doin, first mate?" Blake says, clapping Kid on the back as they head back to the port.

"Why is he the first mate?" Maka asks, indignant. "He's the one driving, he should be captain-"

"Maka, please understand," Kid says. "Your indignance on my behalf is appreciated, but I'm not emotionally involved in this conversation. If being captain brings him a small sliver of joy, I truly do not mind."

"Spoken like a true first mate!" Blake exclaims, and as he says it, to his right, there's the tiniest blip in the water where something has disturbed it.

"Oh my gosh," Maka says, pointing, but by the time everyone looks up, it's gone. "I swear I saw-"

"Wait for it," Kid says, a small smile pulling at his face. "We'll definitely see another one."

And sure enough, within a few minutes, there are little pops of water moving around them. They appear at different distances, and at different intervals, but there's a little whale dance happening in their vicinity, groups moving around for their morning breakfast. At one point, they see one come up close enough to breathe, a jet of water coming out through its blowhole.

It's exciting, and worth staying up for, watching the gray bodies of the whales breach the pink horizon, and despite all of the chaos of the evening, they head back to shore surprisingly calm and content.

When they do finally pull back in, it's nevertheless to the immense relief of everyone involved - even Blake looks a little more green than usual after a few hours on the sea.

"Who needs a ride home? I assume you'll all be needing one?" Kid says, sounding tired but resigned. Together, everyone raises a tentative hand.

They pack into his SUV, and though Maka is exhausted, she still notes that this car is a complete extension of his personality - sleek, black, and not a hair out of place. He brings them home one by one, everyone waving wearily as they slink in through their front doors. When Maka gets dropped off in the driveway, the lights in the house are on, and Nana's standing at the window, her mouth in a thin line, and realization hits Maka like a freight train.

Crap. She didn't tell Nana.

Guilt fills her up, twisting at her gut. She'd totally forgotten to call.

Maka feebly waves to Kid and Soul, the last two on the drop-off list, and reenters the house.

"... Hey, Nana," she says, and Nana says nothing for a moment, sipping at her coffee.

"I'm sorry for being out so late," she says, and Nana shakes her head.

"Get some sleep, doll," Nana says, looking wearier than usual as she overlooks the garden. "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Maka hangs her head a little, and while she knows that their conversation may not be the nicest, sleep is what she - and Nana, who had probably been up all night, waiting for her - probably needs the most.


	4. Under Water, Time Is Standing Still

When Maka awakens in her room, it feels like she's in a tree house: windows open, ocean breeze rousing her along with the swaying of the trees. It would be a peaceful scene, if not for the nerves bouncing around her stomach at the thought of Nana.

She decides that it's not worth prolonging it, so she heads downstairs to face the music. Maka doesn't find Nana in the kitchen, but she does find the kettle hot, complete with a bag of Earl Grey waiting on the counter for her. The smile that crosses her face eases the guilt a little, at least.

Maka finds Nana on the porch, mug of coffee in hand, shock of grey hair blowing slightly in the breeze. She slides into the seat beside her, testing the waters.

"Hey, Nana," she says, and Nana turns to meet her gaze, stoic but attentive.

It hurts to wait. Every moment she spends _not_ apologizing prolongs the unsettling feeling in her gut, so she lets it out.

"I'm so sorry about last night," she says. "I got wrapped up in everything and I totally forgot to call. I'm sure you were really worried."

There's a moment of silence as they both listen to the water, Nana's lip twisting thoughtfully.

"Worried?" Nana muses. "Mmm. Yes. That was part of it."

Surprise colors Maka's face. "Part of it?"

"It was not... entirely worry," Nana says. "I know my baby girl can take care of herself, though I suppose anything could happen." It looks like she wants to wink, but she holds it back, the energy between them still slightly frigid.

"What else was it?"

"Now, you can't get upset with me when I say this," Nana warns her. "You know your Nana will always tell you the truth, right? Even if it'll make you a little angry."

Maka watches her carefully for a moment, and then nods. Nana's not one to spare feelings, especially if she thinks someone needs to hear something. And it's something Maka appreciates, despite the sting that might come with it.

"It just felt… a little familiar, baby girl," Nana begins. Maka cocks her head to the side, and Nana elaborates. "Staying out all night, not calling… spending the night who knows where, and with who knows who."

Maka stills because - as Nana predicted - anger hits her like a wave.

"It's hard, at this age, taking care of someone," Nana continues. "Twenty-two is old enough for someone to make their own choices. But-"

"Nana," Maka says, cutting her off. "I am _not_ Papa."

"Oh, believe me, angel," Nana says, putting a hand on the back of Maka's chair. "I know that. It brought me back, though. Made me remember a different time."

It's a hard pill to swallow, and the knife twists in her gut even more because she _sees_ what Nana saying. Maka knows that she can have a pity party about it all she likes, but ultimately, this all could have been avoided by just _telling_ Nana that she'd be late.

"I'm... sorry, Nana," she says, choosing to swallow her pride over this one. "I'll call every other night this summer."

Nana fixes her with a smile and winks. "I know you will."

They settle into silence for a brief time, watching the clouds drift by across the water.

"You're not as different as you think, you know," Nana says, watching Maka with a mischievous glint in her eye now. "You and your papa."

It's not something that she ever wants to hear, and she groans.

"I know, I know," Nana says with a laugh. "There sure is a lot of your mother in you, but… you got some things from your papa, too."

"Like what?" Maka says, still a little bitter, which only makes Nana laugh harder. Finally, she quiets for a moment, sipping her iced tea.

"...He never asked for help once, you know," she finally says. "Raising you. When your mama left, he shouldered all of that responsibility himself. We'd get so fed up with each other because I wanted to explain how to do everything, and he'd say, 'Don't tell me _how_ to do it. Just give me ideas.'"

"That's totally impractical," Maka says, crossing her arms.

"It sure is," Nana says. "Sort of like someone dragging ten loads worth of wood to the shop in a little red wagon instead of borrowing her papa's car last weekend."

"I didn't _need_ the car from him," Maka says, though she can see Nana having the time of her life, grinning broadly out of the corner of her eye.

"That's all I'm saying," Nana says, putting her free hand up in surrender. "You both like to do things yourselves."

"Well. He was still a lousy dad, a lot of the time," Maka says, sticking her lip out. She knows that she's being a baby, but she can't help reverting to her teenage self when she talks about Spirit.

The corners of Nana's eyes wrinkle as she smiles. "I was far enough away that I couldn't show up at your door every day, or else I would have. But... he wanted to do things himself. Wanted to prove he could, I think. Wanted to do his best for you."

She is determined not to appreciate this, and so her lip is permanently stuck in a pout. "He made stupid choices," Maka says, though the iciness in her tone is thawing.

"He did," Nana agrees with a nod. "Still does, actually. Some of the stupidest ones I've ever seen." Still, her tone is soft when she asks, "But did you ever doubt that he loved you?"

"... No," Maka admits. "Not really."

"I'll never make excuses for that boy," Nana says. "Your papa is flighty, and he's as hare-brained as they come." She raises her iced tea to her lips in a final dramatic pause. "But when you really love someone, you both love _fiercely_ , and that makes your Nana proud."

There's a little knot in her chest, now, and it's stretching toward her eyes, making them brim.

"Speaking of which," Nana says. "There's one more very important thing you have in common." As Maka watches, the mailbox-twinkle returns to Nana's eyes. "...I love you both very much."

The statement is so simple, so pure, that Maka can't help the small smile that spreads across her face.

"We love you too, Nana."

-ɸ-

The next time that Soul pulls up for driving lessons, Maka makes sure to leave the garage door open.

"Dude," he says, jaw agape as he walks up the driveway towards her. "No _way._ "

"What?" she asks innocently, but he's already glaring at her as he walks up to the rest of the way, standing behind Nana's car with a totally awestruck expression on his face.

"You didn't tell me," he says, like he's _accusing_ her of something. She just rolls her eyes.

"I told you I'd tell you soon," she reminds him as he walks around Nana's 1981 Mercedes like it's the first time he's seeing a car. The car is a manila beige, with mini-mirrors on the headlights and the same beige color set into the centre of the wheels. Its overall shape, however, is similar to Soul's, as if the two cars could be siblings.

"It's beautiful," he breathes. "Look at the headlights." He looks down and his eyes widen further. "Look at the _wheels_."

She wants to say something sassy, but she restrains herself - mostly because she finds herself strangely content, watching this departure from his normally surly demeanor. It's almost childlike, the awe in his eyes. Like Christmas morning.

"Do you like it?" comes a voice from the doorway, and Soul looks up to see Nana. It's the first time he's seen her, Maka knows, and she's quite the spectacle with her iced tea in hand, striding up to them with her gray hair flying away from her head in every direction.

"It's so _cool_ ," he says. "The color is old school."

"Old school?" Nana says, feigning offense, and he almost starts to apologize before she verbally swats him away, with a cane accompaniment. "I'm kiddin'," she says. "1981 isn't even old."

"Soul has a Mercedes too, Nana," Maka says with a grin, and his eyes widen again, as if he'd almost forgotten that he had one. "Wanna show it to her?"

"Uh, _yeah_ ," he says. He turns tail and walks quickly back to his car. Maka's pretty sure he would _skip_ back if no one was looking. "C'mon out."

Before Maka can blink, both of the cars are side by side in the driveway, front hoods popped, both of them examining the twists and turns of the piping.

In the background, Maka sips at an iced tea, endlessly amused as the two of them pick the cars apart.

Their driving lesson has been forgotten for the moment, but she finds it difficult to mind.

-ɸ-

"They don't make cars like they used to," Nana says as the three of them sit on the porch an hour later watching the waves.

"They don't," Soul agrees. "There's no _heart_ in them anymore, everything's too flashy now-"

"Flashy like bright red seats?" Maka murmurs, and he shoots her a pointed look, which makes Nana chortle.

"There's nothing wrong with being a little flashy," Nana says with a cheeky grin, tapping her foot against the table, bright pink toe nail polish on display. "It's called having personality."

"Well, you've got personality in spades, Nana," Maka says. Out of the corner, Soul lets slip a rare small smile, and it gives her an idea.

"Speaking of personality. Are you free later, Nana?" Maka asks, holding Soul's gaze. "There's someone else I'd really like you to meet."

* * *

Soul hadn't expected to come here, but as he's starting to realize, this summer has led him to lots of places he wouldn't normally go.

The iron door actually creaks when he pulls it open, a mark of exactly how long it's been since he last came through this entrance.

As he flicks on the fluorescents, the room is bathed in flickering light before revealing a perfectly boring warehouse, with a small office at the top of a staircase in the corner of the room.

He edges through the room, passing by several large dustop covers, and heads straight for the upstairs. The stairs creak as well as he climbs them, and he makes a mental note to try to get Wes to reinforce them with something the next time he comes back here-

Next time. He's already thinking about next time. Well, whatever. For now, he thinks as he finds what he's looking for - a toolbox and belt, with a swatch of tools sticking out - he'll just do what he's come here to do.

 _And what is that, exactly, dear brother?_ the Wes-voice in the back of his head counters.

He's not really sure, actually. But as he tugs a cover off of one of the cars, dust sprinkling the air, he decides that when he finds it, he'll know.

* * *

Wes's introduction is every bit as grand as Maka had hoped.

"Is this _the_ Nana Albarn I've heard so much about?" Wes says, strutting up the driveway like a peacock in a full-on petticoat, bright blue tails streaming behind him.

" _Flashy_ ," Nana mouths at Maka, who buries her smile in a sip of iced tea. "You should have told me you were wearing that blue, young man," Nana says. "I've got a dress that matches it perfectly."

"Well, what's stopping you from donning it now?" he says, a shocked expression on his face, and Nana's face lights up.

"Well, I'll just be right back, then," she says with a flourish, ambling back into the house as fast as her cane can carry her.

"Oh, she loves you already," Maka says after a moment, and Wes sends her a satisfied grin. "You little charmer."

"They tell me that is one of my many talents," he says with a deep bow. "But you only know half the story. I love her already as well."

"She's a loveable one," Maka agrees.

They wait for a few minutes, smiling when Nana reenters the garage in a deep blue sundress, ample ruffles tickling her calves.

"Ah! Delightful!" Wes says, clapping his hands together in delight. "Ravishing. And where are we off to this evening?" he asks, offering her his arm.

"The back porch!" Nana says with a laugh, and though she's on his arm, she's undoubtedly the one leading him. As she gives him a full tour of the garden and the small sliver of beach in front of the house, Maka listens to their exchange with a heart full of love.

When they finally get settled back on the porch with hibiscus tea - a blend reserved only for special occasions - they fall into an easy pattern of conversation, discussing Wes's woodworking pursuits and Nana's gardening ones, which both of them seem to find surprisingly riveting.

"And where is that brother of yours this evening?" Nana eventually says as the sun is starting to set, fireflies coming to greet them on the patio. "He sure does know a lot about cars."

Wes lets out a hearty laugh. "He does. And you inspired him this morning! He's been cooped up in the shop all day, tinkering."

"In the shop?" Maka says. "The woodworking shop?"

"No… ah," Wes says, tilting his head curiously. "He didn't mention the auto shop?"

"... You guys own an auto shop," Maka says, eyes to the sky. "Color me _not surprised at all_."

"He... normally doesn't really go in there anymore," Wes admits, though he looks a bit wary about saying this, like he's divulging a secret. "You must have really influenced him!"

He says this to Nana, but at the end of the sentence, his eyes flicker over to Maka as well. And she can tell he's doing it on purpose, like he's trying to _tell_ her something. In a blink, however, it's gone, replaced by his normal composed expression.

The night ends with a pact: an agreement that Wes will return, and drag Soul over occasionally as well. Agreement is, ultimately, a loose term - Nana had essentially _decreed_ it, and when Nana wants something, everyone is hard-pressed to go against her wishes.

Even so. Something tells Maka that it's not going to be hard to twist their arms.

-ɸ-

As the driving lessons continue, Maka continues to improve.

At the very least, she's getting more familiar with the feel of the clutch, and the timing of switching gears. There is minimal foot slamming now, and Soul's utilization of the Oh Shit bar has significantly diminished, so there's that.

Their level of comfort with one another is also going up, if only because being stuck in numerous near-death situations for hours at a time is a quick catalyst for bonding. On maybe the fifth or sixth lesson, Soul abandons his carefully cultivated polite teaching style and returns to his default setting of _sass_.

"Ohhh my god watch the hill _watch the hill-_ " Soul squawks as the car starts to roll backward - though, to his credit, he does not lunge for the steering wheel like the last three times this has happened. "I'm gonna die here. On the road between Shareport and the underworld."

"I am not _that_ bad at driving, okay?" she says, slamming on the brakes. "Hills are the hardest part. And starting on a hill is even harder."

"You should see the hills in New York," he says. "Those are scary."

"The city?" she says, after they have made it over the hill and her brain and vocal chords are again capable of functioning in tandem. "There's not that many hills in New York City."

"Nah, not the city," he says. "Upstate. Mountains. Hilly."

"You guys are from upstate New York?" she says, shocked. "But you both seem like such... city slickers."

"Wes, maybe," he says. "He's got the right amount of... _razzle dazzle_ for that."

Her mouth quirks up. "Did I just hear the words razzle dazzle come out of your-"

" _Anyway_ ," he says, shooting her a little glance that she might classify as _playful_ , if she didn't know who she was talking to. "We're not city people. My parents are business people, and they own a collection of restaurants and stuff around Rochester. It's still big enough to satisfy their bougie tastes."

He says this last line with real, unfiltered derision, and Maka wants to laugh, but she's not sure if she should.

"Based on what you've told me, they certainly seem to know how to spread their money around," she says. "Does that… bother you?"

He pauses, considering this. "Mmm. I don't really care how much they own, as long as they keep me out of it."

"They own a lot in Shareport too, right?"

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, they do."

"And you've got more of an… opinion on that," she observes. She has learned, over the past month, that sighing appears to be his preferred method of communication.

"Yeah. No. I dunno." He fishes for his words, tapping his fingers against the side of the car as he steels himself for the daunting task of opening up.

"I don't know how to explain it," he finally says. "When I was really little, I used to love coming here for the summer. But now it's like, every time I walk in someplace it's like everyone's got their guard up."

"... Why?"

"Not sure," he says. "Maybe they don't want me reporting back to the parents about a new business opportunity, I guess. Like I'd do that." He rolls his eyes. "Wes wouldn't, either. But I guess I don't blame people for closing themselves off."

"Well, not everyone's like that," she says. They come to stop at a stoplight and, when she starts again, she makes an almost-flawless transition into first gear that makes him give a little hum of approval.

"Like what?" he asks, after they've cleared the light.

"Oh, like…" It sounds stupid after the pause, now that she's had time to think about it, but she lets it fly anyway. "Not everyone's an ice queen. Look at me! I've let you teach me how to drive your own car."

"I think that says more about _me_ than you," he says with a laugh, and then he goes suddenly silent, turning to look out the window. After a few seconds, he adds, "You're doing better. By the way."

"Thanks," she says dryly, though she does appreciate the compliment. "You're grabbing the bar less, so I could tell I was improving."

"Eh, you've still got a ways to go," he says with a grin. "You're at like… a C plus today."

"A C plus?!" she exclaims, indignant. "You take that back. I've never gotten a C plus in my life."

"I never would've guessed," he drawls. "And I've got bad news for you. The first time was definitely not even close to a C plus."

Her face reddens, but she smiles as she slams the clutch into second gear, sending him jerking back in his seat.

"Oops," she says sweetly.

"I swear, if you break the clutch-"

"You'll do what?" she says, eyes narrowing.

His bluff has been called, and he knows it. "Ugggh," he groans, head hitting against the headrest.

She takes pity on him, and goes easy on the clutch on the way home.

"Hey," she adds as they conclude this lesson, pulling back into the driveway. "There's one more place where people don't treat you differently, you know."

"Hmm? Where's that?" he asks, shrugging out of his jacket.

"...Skully's," she says with a little shrug. "Right?"

He ponders this as he gets back into the front seat, shutting the door.

"Huh," he says. "Yeah. I guess that's true."

But for some reason, he doesn't look convinced.

* * *

In addition to heavy lifting, working on cars again is making him do some heavy thinking.

Soul doesn't _enjoy_ thinking, and therefore he does it constantly. It's unfortunate, the fact that he is complicit in creating his own misery.

Today's misery is a different beast, though. Instead of brooding about his family problems, he's considering something else. Stepping back from the hood of another old Mercedes - 1977, white, beige interior - he wipes the side of his face with the clean side of a greasy towel and sighs.

 _There's one more place where people don't treat you differently, you know._

Is that actually true? He thinks back to his interactions at Skully's. Blake treats everyone the same - _badly_ \- so there's nothing to evaluate there. And as he tugs his tool belt around, searching for a mallet, he thinks back to his conversations with Liz, and Patty, and Kid especially.

He's never really thought about it before, but he supposes Maka is right - not that he'll _tell_ her that. Kid, especially, has every reason to treat him differently, since his father is the one who _bought them out_ last summer. But now that Maka's brought it up, he doesn't remember Kid ever saying anything snide.

Hell, he'd even given Soul a job, trusting him enough not to undermine the fledgling little pirate restaurant Kid and his mysterious dad were creating.

That, at least, is reassuring, but Soul is very aware of all kinds of problems, and there is another problem.

When Maka had said that, he'd thought she was going to say _with me and Nana._

And now, he must wrestle with the fact that _that's what he wanted to hear._

He thinks back to the way she'd looked when she laughed by the fire, eyes alive in the flames. The warmth of her body against his on the boat. The easy back-and-forth they'd fallen into with driving the car.

And despite himself, he _wants_.

 _But you can't have_ , he reminds himself. She'd made that clear, remember? She's not looking for 'all of that' right now.

Tamping down on feelings has always been a strength of his, if one can call that a strength. And so he's arranging his heart around, reworking it so that he can keep spending time with her without wanting more.

Unfortunately, as he is in the process of doing that, Wes walks in to shake everything up.

"Knock knock!" his brother says as he strides into the room, appearing at Soul's side in a matter of seconds.

"What do you want, Wes?" Soul says, diving back under the hood in an effort to escape.

"What a way to greet your visitors," Wes says, though he's clearly unoffended, standing behind him to clap him on the back.

"I'm busy," he says, reaching for any tool to look like he's doing something. But Wes is too smart for Soul's own good, and he just leans against the side of another car and grins.

"That's fine. I'm just here to spend some quality time with you."

So Soul continues to work as Wes just stands there looking all happy, and it eventually gets to him enough that he stands, closing the hood of the car, and says, "What are you so _happy_ about?"

"I'm always happy!" Wes says.

"I know," Soul says, crossing his arms. "It's annoying."

"It just makes me happy… to see you in here," Wes hedges.

Soul lets out a little sigh, tugging the dust cover back over the car. "You're being weird. It's not like I'm doing anything different."

Wes clicks his tongue a little, eyes moving up to smugly graze the ceiling. "Oh, but you definitely are. And I know why."

Wes knowing _anything_ is another thing to add to his list of problems, and so he treads carefully.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"A quick denial from Soul Evans is a sure-fire way to let his brother know that he knows _exactly_ what he's talking about," Wes says with a big grin, reaching over to ruffle Soul's hair. "C'mon. Let's go outside."

His heart-rearranging is not yet complete, and this makes him… vulnerable, so when they step outside, he's got a fist clenched, holding on to what's bothering him so that Wes can't dig too deeply.

"So…" Wes says. "You're spending a lot of time with Maka."

"Yep," Soul says. "Driving, remember? She _asked_ me to teach her."

"Yes, yes," Wes says, saving a hand. "I'm sure it is, as you have assured me many times, 'just a ride'."

"It _is_ ," Soul says, rolling his eyes.

"But!" Wes declares, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Is that all you _want_ it to be?"

Silence speaks loudly, and Wes can hear it.

"I like her," Wes says. "She makes you laugh. If only _I_ had that kind of power!"

"Learn to be funny, then," Soul says dryly, head coming to rest on his knees, but Wes is smiling again.

"I'm not here to tell you what to do," Wes says. "And I don't fully know what she wants, but as your brother, I must endorse _not_ doing that fist-clenching, pushing-people-away thing that you so enjoy doing."

Being called out so _accurately_ is gross, and Soul's head stays on his knees, waiting for Wes to say something else, because he knows that he's not done yet.

"I'll go," Wes says, squeezing his shoulder as he stands. "But she makes you happy. So decide what you want, little brother. Maka's not the type of person you can hide things from."

"... Yeah, I know," Soul says to his knees, and Wes leans down to pat him on the back.

"Don't be afraid," he says. "It's easier said than done, but give it a try."

* * *

The next day at work is as full of unexpected events as it always is, but Maka is learning to appreciate that at the unexpected has become… somewhat dependable, as backwards as that sounds.

It's also an exciting day - it's the first time she's felt confident enough to _drive_ to work, and Nana's car sits happily in a parking spot at the edge of the lot. She's excited that she won't have to walk home, though the prospect of no more motorcycle rides is something that she doesn't like to think about.

At least there's one thing she can still safely predict: Blake's cooking is still terrible.

"Ding, fries are done!" Blake declares as he sends a charred mass of potato out onto the bar, which Liz sends back in without another word and shuts the window. The damage has been done, however, as his declaration sends Patty into a rousing round of the Carol of the Bells rendition of the song.

It's only a moment before Blake joins her as well, opening the window as he waits for his second batch of fries to re-fry, before Liz brings it all to a screeching halt with an exclamation of " _It's June! Quit with the Christmas music!"_

All of this before 11 in the morning.

The rest of the workday comes with little bursts of intrigue, as there's something that she starts to notice not too long after the Carol of the Bells censorship debacle.

She and Soul are both watching each other.

Part of her wonders if she's imagining it, because they keep doing it at different times. A peek in the periphery, an inquisitive glance from the corner.

It's quickly becoming that strange dance that people do when you _want_ someone to look at you, and so you catch yourself looking at them more than usual, which in turn _makes_ them look at you, but then you aren't sure whether it's because _you_ were looking at them, or because they want to be looking at you.

It's complicated.

Either way, there's something unspoken that's happening. They hand off plates to one another, they squeeze behind each other to deliver food, to bus tables. There's not a lot of actual conversation, but there's a change in the energy, a sensation in the air that feels heavier between them.

Unfortunately, she's not the only one that has noticed.

"Hey," Liz mutters to her after a few hours of this cat-and-mouse gaze game. "Why does Rich Boy keep looking at you?"

"... Huh?" Maka says, which is one-half false surprise, because of what she already knows, and one-half genuine contentment, because Liz has just confirmed it for her.

"Don't give me that," Liz whispers, essentially cornering her in the corner of the bar. "I see everything that goes on in this bar. My eyes are everywhere."

Curse Blake's shenanigans - he has forced Liz to hone her craft.

"We're working together," Maka says smoothly. "We're probably just checking in on what the other one's doing so that we don't mix up tables."

"So you've been looking at him too, good to know," Liz says even more smoothly, and Maka, realizing she's been bested, decides to quit while she's behind. "Way to make this sound like a conspiracy. What are you _hiding_?"

"Honestly? Nothing," she says. "Things have been… interesting between us, lately. I don't know."

"Do you even see him outside of work?" Liz says, speculative. Maka's long silence gives her all of the information she could possibly need.

"Ohhhhhh, so you have," she says, smug. "Wait. Did you go on a _da_ -"

"No. No. No no," Maka says, in instant damage control mode. "He's… teaching me to drive stick. I need to drive Nana's car, and-" And why is Liz snickering?

"Trying to drive stick, huh?" she says, looking like she'd like to stuff her whole fist in her mouth if she could. "So you can take him for a ride?"

Maka is the living, breathing iteration of the -_- face, and it only makes Liz laugh harder, face turning red in the incandescents.

"Okay, alright, I'll lay off," she says. "As long as you promise to lay _on_ -"

"Can I get some help out here?" comes about the least welcome voice in the world at this moment.

Liz and Maka both turn to him like two deer in headlights - though Liz ends up appearing more constipated than anything, as she abruptly cuts off peals of laughter.

"Yep, yes! Yes you can, sure!" Maka dives around Liz's interrogation station and back into the restaurant, leaving Liz with a bar to tend and additional innuendos to ponder.

"What was that about?" he mutters to her after they're far enough away, two tables apart.

"Oh, just Liz conjuring up delusions," Maka says, grateful for the hair lying over her ears, as she can feel them burning.

"... Hm," he says, tossing a rag on the table. "Maybe I've been conjuring them up, too."

"What do you mean?" she says, turning around and sizing him up.

"I… Have you been avoiding me today?" he says, grabbing the rag again for something to do, wiping the already-clean table a second time. "Just wondering."

"I… oh, no, not at all," she mutters, confused. "Is that why- oh."

"What?" he says, rag once again abandoned on the table.

"Nope! Nothing. I'm conjuring stuff up too, probably."

And suddenly, Blake appears behind them like some kind of horrible magic trick.

"...Did someone say _conjuring?"_

-ɸ-

"I do not understand why we're still here," Maka says as Blake frantically runs around the restaurant after closing, turning off lights. "Weren't we supposed to go out after this?"

"I got… struck by inspiration," Blake says cryptically, and once he has returned to the group, seated on the floor with all of the tables cleared away, he reveals his master plan for the evening.

"Oooohhh, pizza!" Patty says, and everyone else looks excited about this turn of events, as Skully's hasn't got pizza on the menu. "Did you get it from downstairs?"

"Nah, I had pizza last night!" Blake exclaims. "This is muuuuch better!"

He nudges the box with his foot to reveal a still-greasy pizza box that has been marked up in Sharpie, with something that looks familiar but that Maka can't quite put her finger on-

"Oooohhhh no," Liz says, standing up and heading instantly for the light switch. "No way, no way, no way-"

Patty starts laughing over the sounds of Liz's protests, while Kid looks almost amused, and only when Maka notices this strange reaction does she realize what this is.

"Oh! It's a ouija board," she says.

"A Luigi board!" Patty exclaims. "Sis hates these!"

Meanwhile, Liz has already flicked on three light switches, while Blake follows her around, flicking them back off again as he attempts to convince her that this is a good idea.

"C'moooon, it'll be fun! We always did a wee-jee-board when I used to come up for summer camp!" he explains. "It's tradition!"

"Leave me out of your ghost-summoning ritual traditions, you weirdo!" Liz says, rounding on him. "You're like a _god of chaos_ , who knows what sorts of things you might bring into this realm-"

"Liz, it's a pizza box," Maka says with a laugh. "What could he summon, a ghost pepperoni?"

"You stay out of this, new girl!" Liz says.

"Liz doesn't have to do it," Soul says, his face breaking into a grin. "... but I wanna. Let's see what old creepy ghosts hang out in this old place."

"That's the _spirit_ ," Blake says, winking, and Kid actually lets out a laugh at that pun, looking more excited about this by the second.

"I'm in too," Maka says, nodding, and one by one the rest agree, leaving Liz to concede defeat as she groans her way back to the circle, sits herself down and latches on to Patty's arm for dear life.

* * *

The stage is set: candles abound, salt sprinkled between them in a circle, and a hastily scribbled pizza box ouija board at the center, prepared to welcome the spirits of the other realm into their humble seafood restaurant.

"Okay, who wants to go first?" Blake says, chivalrously stepping aside to give anyone who wants a try the floor.

"I'll go," Soul says. "Let's get spooky."

"Be careful!" Liz says, peeking around Patty's shoulder, only for Patty to jump up and leave her alone and defenseless, stepping up to hold the other side of the board. When they step up, Soul's face contorts in the light of the candles.

"Is _this_ what we're using as the stopping-letter-thing?" he says, holding up three cold french fries taped together.

"Listen, gotta be resourceful," Blake says.

"You couldn't have used… pizza crusts, or something?" Maka asks. "To go with the theme?"

"My leftover fries had a stronger energy," he says with a shrug, and Liz, despite her nervousness, rolls her eyes at this. When a breeze passes through the restaurant, however, she reverts straight back to Panic Mode, scrambling up to Patty.

"Pat, please, I need you back here-"

"All right, all right," Patty says, scooting back with a laugh. "I'll pass. It's all yours, Blakey."

"Sweet!" he says, running forward to sit on the other side of the pizza box with Soul. "You guys ready?"

Everyone nods, and other than the whispers of the candles, there's not a sound to be heard in the restaurant or outside, most of Shareport's residents having retired for the night.

"Okay," Blake begins, eyes shut. "First, I call upon the spirit of John Cena, penman of the world's most excellent autograph-"

"John Cena's not dead, you dumbass!" Soul exclaims. "You can't communicate with people who aren't dead!"

"Shhhhh," Blake says, though a manic smile twists his features, making him look almost creepy in the light of the candles. "Okay. Is anyone besides John Cena in this room with us tonight?"

"John Cena _can't_ be in this-"

"Shhhhhh!" the entire group choruses, and Soul's gaze flicks toward Maka, who is very obviously biting back a smile.

"Anyway, spirits," Blake says, nodding encouragingly. "If you're here, move the sacred fries."

They sit in silence for a moment, eyes fixed on the board, and suddenly, Soul can feel the energy in the room shift, a breeze awakening the candles to send them stirring.

Blake gasps. "It's moving."

"You are definitely pushing this," Soul says, hands on the other side of the fries.

"I'm not!" Blake says, eyes wide, and it almost seems... believable, the sincerity in his tone, as the fry-triangle makes it way to the word "Yes" at the bottom of the board.

Liz is shaking by this point, all of her focus directed completely at the board. Patty is also watching carefully, eyes wide. Soul isn't convinced, but he's also happy to try to creep other people out for a good time, so he continues on in the charade:

"...Who are you?" he asks.

The fries start to move again, and this time, he starts looking up at Blake and back down at the board, more unsure now. The letter moves to the M, then to the O, to the R, before stopping and quivering over the T. Blake and Soul look up at each other, eyebrows raised. Kid is looking troubled as well.

"That's definitely 'death' in French'," Soul says, which apparently everyone already knew except Liz, who lets out a loud gasp.

"... Huh," Kid says, mouth turning up slightly at the corners.

"Nope! Nope nope! No death here!" Liz says, standing up. "No thank you!"

"Hold onnnn," Blake says. "I wanna know what Death wants to tell us!"

They focus back down at the board, and despite the fact that this it's probably bogus, he enjoys the idea that it really is Death himself, communicating with them from the great beyond.

They watch breathlessly as the board spells out, incredibly, "PINBALL," followed by "UNPLUG," and Patty cracks up at laughing at this, which totally kills the creepy atmosphere but does give Liz some room to breathe. All of them start to laugh as Maka gets up to joyfully adhere to the great Death spirit's bidding.

"Hey, Death pizza spirit," Blake says, wiggling his eyebrows. "What else do you sense in this room?"

The fries sit still, seemingly unsure of how to answer the question.

"What I'm trying to ask is," he says, a wicked grin materializing on his face once more. "I have a very important question."

He waits until everyone's attention is fully focused on him before asking his Very Important Question:

"Could you please tell us if Soul and Maka would like to fuck?"

The collective breath that is drawn in the room feels like it passes through millions of years of time and space, and the shock is palpable as Soul and Maka, in tandem, make their opinions known:

" _... What?!"_ they both exclaim, though Soul tacks on a " _the hell, Blake!"_ for good measure.

"Whaaaat?" Blake says innocently. "We're all thinking it! Even Maka was thinking it!"

Soul keeps his gaze on the board, totally unwilling to show _any_ sort of emotion over this. This isn't the time, damnit, and he's just _starting_ to figure this shit out-

"I am absolutely not _thinking_ -" Maka starts to sputter.

"Then what were you _just_ talking about with Liz by the kitchen window, like two hours ago?"

"That was- oh my god, I'm gonna _kill you_ -" Maka says, jumping up out of her spot in the circle and _lunging_ for Blake, though Kid and Tsubaki step in at this point, holding her back.

" _Candles_ , Maka," Kid admonishes. "Murder him outside, if you must. I won't complain."

"Wait," Soul says, his eyes focused down at the board again. "Blake, are you moving-"

"N-uh." Blake looks down, surprised. "I'm… not."

They pause for a moment, though he's not sure whether the tension he's feeling is because of the Lord of Death's presence or because of Maka's residual murderous energy behind him. He has the feeling that they probably have similar vibes. For a moment, she pauses, though, watching along with everyone else as the fries make their way around the board.

"CAR," it spells out.

Soul looks back at Maka, whose brow is furrowed.

"ALMOST," it spells out next, and by this point, Liz is nervous again, and everyone else is riveted to the board, and from the look on Soul's face, he isn't driving any of this any more.

"STAY," it orders, and it goes still for another thirty seconds. Soul is about to say something else before the fries move again, moving between to the numbers, 3, 2, and 1.

The next moment, there's a sickening crash outside the restaurant.

"Holy shit!" Liz says, jumping a foot, and beside Soul, Maka springs into action, since she's _already_ ready to fight anyone. When she races outside, Soul is only a few feet behind her, the foghorn a distant echo as they run down the stairs.

"Ugh! No!" Maka yells from the middle of the stairs. Right before the car peels out of the parking lot, Soul catches a glimpse of a Massachusetts license plate - and apparently, so does Maka.

"Ugh! Masshole!" she yells as she runs up and kicks at the tire of Nana's car, whose back bumper is dented on the left side. Soul makes his way up behind her, Blake, falls into step with him.

"You are on my _shit list_ ," Maka says, rounding on Blake. " _Ass_. Also, your fries are haunted, probably."

Soul is comforted by the fact that Blake is looking a little paler than he was before, staring down at the pavement. "Yeah, I guess so," he mutters. "How's the damage?"

Maka pulls out the flashlight on her phone to have a better look, as the sun went down long ago, and starts picking up little bits of bumper that are littered around the parking lot.

"Doesn't look great," she says, and at this point, Soul bends down to help, tucking pieces into his shirt, which is lifted up above his belly button. The trunk still works, so she pops it and he unloads it into a little pile, fluttering his short shirt tout a little to get all of the stray pieces.

"I can't believe this," she says. "What a jackass."

"You saw the Mass license plate too?" Blake says. "God."

"I was talking about _you_ ," Maka says, shooting him a glare. "But yes."

"Wanna see if it'll still drive?" Soul asks.

They both walk to the front of the car, and when Maka turns the key, the car still revs to life. "That's good," she says, voice tinged with relief.

"I can still get you a tow if you'd rather not drive it home," Soul says through the driver's side window.

"Do you know of a towing place around here that'd be open at this hour?" she asks, hopeful.

Blake lets out a little laugh from the behind the trunk. "Oh man, _does_ he?"


	5. The Place That's Only Yours

"... You're just full of mysteries, aren't you?" Maka mutters to Soul, who's standing beside her as the one and only Wes Evans backs into the parking lot in a tow truck, red lights reflecting off the water in the inlet.

"Let me guess," she says to both of them. "Your parents own a towing company."

Soul is grouchy again, kicking up dirt with his shoes. "I swear we don't own everything in this damn town."

Wes and Maka both watch him for a minute, and she opens her mouth to ask something, but then she lets the question float away. He'll open up on his own time.

"How much do I owe you?" she says instead.

Soul looks surprised and, from the window of the tow truck, so does Wes.

"Maka," Wes says. "My dear, sweet wagon girl. We'd never charge you for this. Mother and Father don't have to be privy to all of our business dealings." Soul, leaning against the truck with his arms crossed, nods in agreement.

"Ohhh no," Maka says, marching over to the window. "I'm _not_ gonna let you guys work for free-"

"You gave me your wood for free," Wes says. His tone is light, but with an insistence that makes her rethink picking this battle. "And we will simply not accept any payment. Don't even try it!"

The Evans boys have the exact same expression at this moment: eyes narrowed, cheeks pinched, jaw set. Staunch in their commitment to do things _their way._

It's probably what she looks like when she refuses to back down.

She sighs in exasperation, looking down at her feet. "Okay," she says. "Fine. We can talk about it _more_ tomorrow," she adds. "But for now… thank you."

"Nooo problem. It'd be boring if you gave up that easily," Wes says with a little chortle. "Come by tomorrow. I'll take good care of the car tonight." Wes gives Soul and Maka a cheerful wave and heads out of the parking lot, dragging Nana's newly-attached car behind.

Anger is still churning in Maka's gut, but there's a measure of relief there, too, and now she's at a loss for what to do.

"... I don't wanna go back up there," Maka says, pointing to Skully's. "They're gonna ask, and I don't wanna talk about it."

"Aw man," Soul says. "You sure? Liz is gonna absolutely lose her shit. Might be funny."

"... Yeah, I'm sure," Maka says, though the tiniest smile quirks the side of her mouth. "I'd rather not go home, though. I told Nana I wouldn't be home until after midnight."

"Uh." He's hesitant, and the way he says it brings Maka back to his reaction to that stupid ouija board question, which is intriguing. "Would you wanna… drive somewhere? Get outta Shareport for a couple of hours?"

She looks him up and down slowly, deliberately. "Kay. …But only if we don't talk about Blake at _all._ "

* * *

There's a magic that lights up the sky on summer nights, a calm, humid presence that flies through the windows. It's a feeling that's almost impossible to describe, but everyone who's been on a summer drive on the coast knows what it feels like: the sound of ocean waves, invisible in the darkness. The freedom to go anywhere. The knowledge that as long as the wheels beneath your feet keep turning, you can't be stagnant; you have to _go_ somewhere.

It's this feeling that spills through a 1972 Mercedes on the backroads of Shareport, where Soul Evans is beginning to remember what it's like to be free.

When they stop at a 7-11 on the outskirts of Northborough, he feels like something in him is… mending, like the thirty minute drive has brought him back to life again. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window, his brown eyes shining almost red in the light of the Open sign.

"You wanna keep going?" he asks her reflection as she passes. In the mirror, they watch each other, taking in each others' reflection. She sips her slushie and nods.

The decision is made, and onward they go. A companionable silence carries them forward as Shareport fades further into the distance, the only sound the rushing of the wind through the windows and the occasional switching of gears.

Is it supposed to be this simple? He can't remember the last time something in his life was simple.

But the pavement slides behind them, Shareport disappears, and every passing moment is another escape.

Finally, they find themselves parked at a beach an hour and a half away, wading through the sand towards a lighthouse, shoes clutched in each of their hands. The ocean is calling, illuminated by the full moon, and they amble towards it, watching the white caps of low tide descend upon the sand. They sit down just beyond the water line, shaking a little from the chill in the air, even in mid-June.

"Here," he says, tossing his jacket into her lap, because - he knows it, and even worse, _she_ knows it - he won't pull it around her shoulders. It's difficult, to be this close, especially with Blake's stupid _interference_ earlier tonight.

They're teetering on the edge of something, and as usual, he's afraid. Afraid to take the leap.

But it won't be tonight, because tonight... she wants to talk. He can tell.

And to his great surprise… so does he.

"It's so quiet out here," Maka says as she tugs the jacket on. "It feels like being at Nana's, only different."

"That must be nice," he says. "To feel that peaceful in your own home."

There's nothing for her to say to that, so nothing is what she says. After a moment, he sighs.

"... Sorry," he says. "You know I hate talking about... home."

He hates that she doesn't have to ask what he means. "I do," she says.

But it's also a relief. Isn't it? Wouldn't it be nice to let her in? Just a little?

 _Decide what you want, little brother._

"I just… can't _be_ in Shareport anymore," he says, because something in his gut is breaking down, breaking _out_. "That's why I love this car, and the bike. It's like... the only time I like this place is when I know I could get in the car and never come back."

The waves overtake the silence, gliding in and out, like the ocean is breathing, waiting for her to speak. Soul breathes along with it, and together they wait.

"But... you still come back," Maka finally says, watching the waves. "Every time. Why…" She hesitates.. "Why… do you think that is?"

The answer is simple, and it isn't. And because of this, he struggles to explain it.

"I don't really know," he says. He thinks of the lighthouse, of the bay. The sound of the ocean in his ears. "There's something about this town that's… bigger than all of my parents' bullshit," he says. "That's more."

"Like what?"

"I dunno," he says, and he grimaces a little, because there's that feeling in his chest again, like something is trying to escape. "The way it feels after a storm. The smell of the tide, or whatever. Stuff that doesn't have anything to do with people."

She nods. "Things that don't change, right?"

He blanches a little, his hair skewing to the side to cover his eyes as he scoffs.

"Yeah, well," he says. "Some changes are okay."

"Oh yeah?" she says, smile widening. "Which ones?"

He recoils back into his shell, because _ugh, feelings_.

"I didn't think I'd ever meet cool people in Shareport, other than Wes," he says with a little shrug. "People that own old Mercedes, or that do pizza box seances, or whatever. Or…"

He stops, and he's keenly aware of how she's watching him.

"Or…?" she says softly.

 _Decide what you want, little brother._

He wants to escape, and this feeling in his chest wants to escape, and he wants to throw the dart and see where it lands.

"Or… stubborn C-plus drivers, who drive me insane. And who aren't afraid of things. And who…"

Who… feel like home, a little bit.

It's the truest thing he's felt in so long, but he can't _say_ it.

"I…" Maka says, grabbing a handful of sand and letting it trickle through her fingers. "I don't know if you remember, earlier this summer… when I said I wasn't looking for anything."

He stills, eyes fixed on the water.

"But..." She looks up at him, the moonlight framing her hair like a halo. "I think… I might have changed my mind."

He swallows, and the escape-feeling in his chest is replaced with something... warm.

"Well…" he says, looking up at her through his hair, forcing the words out. "Like I said. Some... changes are okay."

She's smiling at him in the darkness. "They are, huh?"

He takes a handful of sand, too, watching it trickle down. "... Yeah. Really okay."

"I…" She tilts her head to the side, curious. "I'd like… to try something. Alright?"

He eyes her cautiously. "...Alright."

In slow motion, she edges forward to tentatively lean her head on his shoulder.

They sit there for a moment, his heartbeat in his ears. "Is _this_ okay?" she asks after a moment, to be sure.

He lets out a shaky laugh. "...This is very okay," he confirms, and he lets a smile spread across his face as they sit there, taking in the moonlight, the water, the quiet.

They spend another few minutes out there, listening to the waves, but soon the late hour forces them to abandon the lighthouse, and the waves. They retrace their footprints in the sand, a mark of their evening that will soon be washed away with the tides.

"I agree, by the way," she says to him as they walk. "There's something magic that makes me come back here, too."

"That's... just Nana, isn't it?"

"Not… completely," she says with a little smile. "Obviously she's most of it, but there's something else in the town itself. I can't see it… but I can feel it." She starts to laugh, and Soul sends her a curious glance. "Sorry," she says, covering her mouth with a hand. "It's something I read in a book once."

"No wonder I have no idea," he says, and just like that, all of the tentativeness, the newness, the _shyness_ is broken as her eyes become slits, and her gaze glides over to him as he tries to hide the wicked grin on his face.

"It wouldn't kill you to read something, you know," she says as they get back to the car and slide into the seats. "I assume you didn't study in school at all, either."

"Nope!" he says, sounding very satisfied, because he knows it'll piss her off. And look, it does.

"You're so _frustrating_ ," she says, shutting the door with a snap.

"Listen," Soul says as he leans around his seat to back up the car. "Not all of us were goody-two-shoes in school, and we all made it out fine."

"I could kick your ass with just _one_ of my goody-two-shoes," she grumbles as she clicks on her seatbelt.

He _knows_ that. It's probably why he likes her so much. "Yeah, yeah. You're tough, Wagon Girl."

The rest of the ride back is quiet, but for the first time, he doesn't feel the mounting dread that he normally feels when he heads back to Shareport.

As they pull into Nana's driveway, Maka looks over at him, and then down at his hand, which is still sitting on the gear shift.

The shyness is back as she places her hand over his, glancing up to gauge his reaction.

Slowly, methodically, savoring the way that it feels, he turns his hand around, reaching up to thread his fingers through hers.

"Hey, Maka?" he asks as she starts to smile, her fingers still extended in surprise.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you changed your mind."

She looks down at their hands again, and brings her fingers down, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Me too."

* * *

And there you have it. :) If you've made it this far and are exclaiming "What?! That's it?!", never fear. This is part one of a two-part series. This story is technically complete, but Part 2 is coming, eventually. It would've been impossible for me to finish everything I have planned in one Resbang, so please look forward to the second installment, where we'll get more absurdity from Blake, the revelation of Why Nana Has All That Wood, and, of course, a smooch or twelve. Soul and Maka both have a lot more opening up to do, and I'm excited to explore that with you all.

For the time being, thank you for being here! If you're so inclined, drop me a comment and let me know what you thought! See you all soon. :)


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